


And the Seed is Sown

by eliddell



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Action, Adventure, And poor Shouri is caught in the middle, BDSM, Body Modification, Body Piercing, Bondage, Canon Compliant, Drama, Dream Sex, Kink laundry list!, M/M, Mpreg, Not all in the same chapter, Or At Least I Tried, Paddling, Post-Canon, Pregnant Sex, Probably a few more I've forgotten, Safe Sane and Consensual, Shin'ou is a perv, The Great Sage isn't much better, Threesome - M/M/M, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 102,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliddell/pseuds/eliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all started when Ken Murata's soul was stolen one evening while he was walking through a commercial district in Japan.  The thieves had no idea that the young man's body hosted two souls, or that attacking him meant that the Maoh of Earth's heir was going to get involved.</p><p>And then an even more important soul disappeared, and Shouri found himself chasing the thieves through the otherworld in an attempt to save his brother, in the company of two dead men that he found . . . unexpectedly attractive.</p><p>(Note:  If you're disturbed by the list of tags, you might be interested to know that the first three chapters contain no sex and can be read as a separate short 'fic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of the long Shouri/Geneus 'fics I promised when I finished posting _Repatriation_. It does veer into some weird territory, and yes, that tag list is accurate. Despite that, it is mostly plot (and I'm pretty sure it isn't the kinkiest thing I've ever written, either), although there is more sex than appeared in _Repatriation_.
> 
> I have no idea why the story decided it needed that title (I know where it comes from, but there's absolutely no link from there to the subject matter of the 'fic unless my subconscious is doing a weird take on the Shin'ou/Daikenja relationship). Total length: ~100000 words, in twenty-seven chapters and one epilogue, so at one chapter a day I should be done posting in mid-August.
> 
> The story is compliant with the anime canon only. Bits of the novel canon as I understand it have been used to fill in peripheral information here and there where the two don't contradict each other, but since Geneus doesn't exist in the universe of the novels, bits from there that I didn't actually use can be safely ignored.
> 
> The perspicacious reader may notice that the story contains a mixture of Japanese and English honourifics and titles. I've pretty much given up on consistently using one or the other and went with what felt right in each case. Mea culpa. And once again, romanizations and translations of names may not completely match any single source.
> 
> I do not own Kyou Kara Maoh! or any of its characters or settings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About this chapter in particular: Medical practices depicted are no doubt grossly inaccurate.

**One year after KKM season 3**

I leaned back from the computer and stretched, trying to get rid of the crick in my neck. On the screen, an illustration of a well-endowed woman in a tight-fitting exercise leotard rested her hand on a dialog box that was calling me a fool, and in some ways I suppose I was. I _should_ have been doing homework, or going over the stock portfolio that Bob had me managing, but instead here I was, playing a second-rate eroge while I listened to the rain pattering against the windows. Mom had gone with Dad on a business trip to Hokkaido, and Yuuri was on a school trip, so I had the house to myself tonight. 

I was considering the merits of taking a bath versus those of just lying down on my unmade bed and going to sleep when the phone rang. My cell was lying on the corner of my desk, but by the time I'd fumbled it into my hand, I'd realized that the noise was coming from somewhere else, and it didn't quite match my ringtone anyway. _The land-line? What the hell—when's the last time anyone even used it?_

It rang again, insistently, and I muttered a curse and padded off down the hall to my parents' room—it was that or go downstairs. I grabbed the receiver from the bedside table and flopped back on the bed. 

"Shibuya residence." 

"Forgive me for bothering you at this hour, Shibuya-san. I'm calling from Saitama General Hospital." 

_Don't freak out,_ I told myself. "Has something happened?" _Please let it not be Yuuri._

"We have a young man here who has suffered a blow to the head. He doesn't have any identification on him, and he seems unable to answer our questions. In the interest of finding out who he is, we've been working our way through the list of numbers we found on his cell phone, and yours was the first that answered." 

"Can you describe him?" I asked, while the rational part of me, the part that wasn't already feeling sick, was insisting the Yuuri was at the other end of the country, and this was someone else. 

"Sixteen or so years old, messy hair, glasses. He . . . doesn't seem to speak Japanese, although he isn't foreign in appearance and so far no one's been able to tell exactly what he _is_ speaking. One of the other staff suggested that it sounds vaguely German." 

The sickness evaporated. "I'm not a hundred percent sure, but I think you may have a friend of my brother's. His name is Ken Murata. I'd better come over and check, though, because there are . . . other possibilities." I wouldn't necessarily have been informed if someone was coming over from the other world, even if Bob had given him a cell phone and shown him how to use it, and Mazoku did sound more like German than it did like any other Earth language. 

"That would be a help, thanks." The woman at the hospital sounded relieved. 

"Okay, then, I'll be there in about twenty minutes." 

After I hung up, I spent a moment staring at the ceiling, thinking. If Murata had taken a blow to the head that had catapulted his mind back in time to a previous life where he spoke neither Japanese nor English . . . that could end up being trouble. I just hoped he would recognize me as a fellow Mazoku and be cooperative. 

The extra let-me-hear-your-heart's-cry-kun we kept for the benefit of visitors from Shin Makoku were in a drawer in the bathroom, and I pocketed one, since getting Murata, or whoever, communicating with the staff at the hospital would probably make everything a lot easier. My own let-me-hear-kun was in my ear, as usual—it translated between several Earth languages as well as Mazoku, which could be handy sometimes. 

With that taken care of, I went back to my room to grab my wallet, transport pass, and cell phone. I also bundled the change of clothes my brother's friend kept at our place so that he'd have something dry to wear after otherworld transits into the gym bag I used to carry my textbooks around (right on top of the fifty pages of photocopies I needed to read for History of Political Thought), because Shin'ou only knew what kind of shape the stuff he was wearing was in. 

The only umbrella in the rack by the door was a garish thing Mom had picked up at some store's closing-out sale because she'd thought it looked "cheerful". I took it anyway, since the rain was really pounding down and it was a block and a half to the bus stop, but I cringed inwardly at the thought of being seen with it. 

Eighteen minutes later, the bus deposited me in front of Saitama General. The hospital was the most brightly lit building in a three-block radius, which made me realize that it was almost midnight on a Tuesday. Well, no big deal—my first class tomorrow wasn't until eleven, so I'd have plenty of time to sleep in. 

I explained who I was and why I was there to one of the receptionists manning the front desk. She sent me to Emergency, where I had to explain the situation all over to a nurse, who called another nurse down from the third floor. 

The second nurse was kind of cute, a small-boned woman with generous curves who couldn't have been too many years older than I was . . . but I was here on business. Still, I made a mental note of the name on her ID badge, which was Aiko, and did my best to draw her into conversation as we waited for the elevator. 

"Oh, he hasn't been that much trouble—actually, he's been a lot more polite than some of the patients we _can_ talk to. When we can get across what we want, he does it without complaining." 

"What about his physical condition?" I asked. 

"He was hit just behind the ear. Bruising and a flap of skin torn loose, and most likely a concussion, given the way he's behaving. It's hard to assess just how badly off he is without being able to communicate with him." 

"Hopefully I'll be able to fix that," I said as the elevator arrived. We stepped on board. "If he _is_ concussed, how long will it be until he can be released?" 

"That isn't for me to say, unfortunately. In theory, we could release him right now if there were someone around to look after him and if whatever's wrong with his ability to use language didn't seem to hint at an unusual level of damage . . ." 

We left the elevator on the third floor and walked a short distance along the hallway to a door whose nameplate read "Patient X". Aiko reached for the doorknob immediately, but I reached over her head and knocked before she could turn it. 

"Come in." The words, clearly audible through the door, were indeed in Mazoku, and it did seem to be Murata's voice . . . but there was something subtly odd about it. I shrugged, putting it down to the choice of language. 

And when we opened the door, there was Ken Murata, sitting on the edge of a narrow hospital bed with a chunk of gauze taped into place behind his right ear. He smiled unexpectedly when he saw me. "Shouri-dono!" 

I froze. Murata called me "Shibuya's-big-brother", or, very rarely and only in public, "Shouri-niisan", so having him address me so politely felt . . . odd. And while I could imagine him being happy to see someone familiar, his normal attitude was more detached. 

That choice of words, his loss of the Japanese language, and his general attitude pointed to only one possible conclusion: this was not Murata. 

"Geneus?!" 

A firm nod. "I take it that this is your world, and I am in _his_ body. That explains why this place seems so . . . peculiar. There have been many changes here in the past two thousand years." 

"You could say that." It was a relief he was so calm. It meant that _I_ didn't have any reason to be anything other than calm. "Is Murata . . . in there?" 

"It is difficult to be certain, but I think not." 

"I take it you two do know each other, and whatever he's saying isn't just random noise," Aiko said, a bit tartly. 

I switched back to Japanese. "Sorry, that was rude. Yes, he's who I thought he was: Ken Murata." _What in hell am I supposed to do?_ I had to get Geneus out of here _without_ dragging Murata's family into this, since I knew they didn't know about the whole Mazoku thing. Which meant I was going to need some help from Bob . . . but I couldn't call him in front of a witness. What was the quickest way to get Aiko out of the room? 

She snorted. "Well, if you can translate for him, I'd better try to get the doctor. Wait here." 

_Well, that was lucky,_ I thought as she shut the door behind her. I fumbled in my pocket. "Put this in your ear," I told Geneus, holding out the spare let-me-here-your-heart's-cry-kun. "It's a translator of sorts. The faster they're convinced that you're sane, the faster we'll be able to get you out of here." 

Geneus gave me a surprisingly Murata-like narrow-eyed look, then picked the thing up and slipped it gingerly into his left ear. 

"Can you understand me?" I prompted in Japanese as I went back to fishing through my pocket. _Cell phone, cell phone . . . here we are!_

"So it seems. Thank you, Shouri-dono." 

"Just 'Shouri' is good enough," I said. "Look, there's a bunch of stuff I need to get done before the nurse gets back . . ." 

"I will save my questions for later, then." He settled back to watch me as I dialed Bob's number—it was the second one in my contacts list, right after Yuuri's. 

It took him five rings to pick up, and I forced myself to wait patiently—eleven-something at night in Japan was six-something in the morning in Switzerland, and who knew when he'd gotten to bed the night before. 

" . . . take it this is important," came the sleepy mumble on the other end of the line at last. 

"We've got a problem," I said crisply, and outlined as much as I knew of the circumstances. "I need someone who can pretend to be Murata's next-of-kin—I doubt they'll let a minor out of the hospital in my care unless they think they have his parents' permission. After that, we'll try to figure out what happened to Murata's soul. I somehow doubt getting hit over the head would normally have caused it to pop loose." 

"It would not," Geneus confirmed, touching the dressing on his head. 

At the other end of the line, Bob sighed. "Very well, I'll call Yamada in Tokyo—you have his number, I believe—and tell him to dust off his thespian skills. Will that do?" 

"That would be great, thanks," I said. "Sorry for waking you up." 

Another sigh. "My own fault. At my age, I should know that crises _always_ happen the morning after I've had to entertain potential business partners until one AM. I'll call you back later to discuss the situation." 

"Right," I said, but he'd already hung up. "Can you tell me what happened?" I asked Geneus in Mazoku. 

"Not in any useful way, I fear. I returned to consciousness rather abruptly, and I was badly disoriented at first. I woke on my hands and knees on a pavement in the shadow of a tall, garishly-lit building, and I could hear behind me the sounds of someone running away. Presumably that person was the one who attacked . . . _him_ . . . and extracted his soul, but I have no first-hand knowledge of the attack itself." 

"Wait—you think Murata's soul was intentionally pulled out of his body?" 

"I do not see how else it could have happened. A soul only leaves the body of its own accord when that body is dead or nearly so, and that cannot have been the case here." 

"Even when there's another soul involved?" 

"The Great Sage was the natural tenant of this body. If this were some form of bizarre accident, it should have been my soul that was . . . lost." 

"I think you mean 'the _other_ Great Sage'," I said softly. 

Geneus gave me a crooked smile. "Thank you, Shouri, but I know quite well that I am no more than an inferior copy." 

"I don't know any such thing," I snapped. "You aren't—" 

I almost glared at the door as it opened unexpectedly. Of all the timing . . . ! And it wasn't even Aiko. Instead, a middle-aged man carrying a clipboard stood in the doorway. 

"I am Doctor Hayami," he said, giving us an abbreviated bow. 

"Shouri Shibuya," I said, returning the bow. "This is Ken Murata." 

"So I understand. You can translate for him?" 

"Actually, he's recovered his Japanese to some extent," I said. 

"Has he?" 

"As Shouri said, to some extent only," Geneus said. "There are many words that I seem unable to recall in any language save the one I was speaking when I was brought here." 

"A language which we were unable to identify," the doctor said. 

"It's an obscure dialect of Swiss German," I lied. "I spent a couple of months there recently, and picked up a bit of it." 

"Ah. Well, Shibuya-san, if you would care to leave so that I may discuss his symptoms with my patient?" 

"I would prefer that Shouri stay," Geneus said. "I have nothing to hide from him, and I would not wish to fail to answer your questions properly because I misunderstood them." 

Hayami didn't seem to be happy about that, but he also didn't seem to think it was worth arguing about. "Very well, then. Do you remember what happened?" 

"Not with any degree of precision, but I assume I took a blow to the head." Geneus touched the dressing near his ear. "I fear that my memories of the several hours preceding the event, as well as the event itself, are scrambled to the point of uselessness." 

Hayami made a note on his clipboard. "That's unfortunate, but not abnormal. Do you happen to remember if you had any money or identification on you before you were attacked? The police will want to know." 

"I do not know." 

"Can you tell us where he was picked up?" I added. "If he just dropped his ID, it might still be there. And . . . police?" Oddly enough, that might actually be useful—there were several Mazoku on the force here. Bob had encouraged them to apply because of Yuuri. 

"Given that he was assaulted, I'm required to send in a report, although chances are that they'll just file it away instead of doing anything. And I believe it was . . ." He flipped through several pages on the clipboard. "Outside of 2140 Wisteria Avenue East. Someone saw him wandering around with a visible injury and reported it at the local police station, and the officers there summoned an ambulance." 

I glanced at Geneus, who nodded—that matched what he remembered, then, even if he hadn't understood what the police officer and the ambulance were. 

The doctor then ran through several routine-seeming questions—how much pain was "Murata" in? Was he experiencing dizziness, nausea, or double vision? Ringing in his ears? Sensitivity to light? Difficulty concentrating? To all of these, Geneus replied in the negative. Name and contact information for next of kin? At that one, Geneus hesitated, and I stepped in. 

"As I understand, he doesn't have much contact with his family these days—his parents both work in Tokyo—and he's having trouble with phone numbers. So I phoned a mutual acquaintance earlier and got a number for his father." What I passed on was, of course, Yamada's contact information. 

After noting that down, Hayami put his pen away. "Well, then. Since you seem to be recovering from the language-related symptoms, there's no immediate impediment to having you released into your family's care, or into the care of someone they designate. I'll have one of the nurses contact your father." 

"Have them mention that I volunteer to look after him, if it's too much trouble for his father to get back here tonight," I said. 

Hayami raised his eyebrows. "Thank you, Shibuya-san, I'll make certain that that information is passed on. Now, if you will excuse me, I have other patients to see." 

_Hurdle one passed,_ I thought as he closed the door behind him. 

"We have to decide what to do once they agree to let you out," I said. 

"I thought you had already decided that we would search for the soul of the true Great Sage." 

I bit back the first reply that came to mind and chose instead, "There is no 'true Great Sage'. You both have the same memories of your first life, and as far as I'm concerned, that means you both have equal claim to the title. I won't have you calling yourself, or even _thinking_ of yourself, as being somehow _less_ than he is. You're . . . an incredible person . . . and you're also my friend." 

"Do you often make friends with your kidnappers?" But he was smiling again, although it was that crooked, too-knowing expression that held as much pain as anything. 

I smiled back. "I'll tell you when I've been kidnapped enough times to scrape together a decent statistical sample." 

"I will make a point of asking you again in ten thousand years or so, then." 

I snorted. "Anyway, the reason I want to figure out what happened isn't necessarily to restore Murata—I just want to make sure Yuuri isn't at risk. What we do afterwards, if we do find his soul, will be up to you. You have as much right to a body as he does, and it isn't your fault you don't have one of your own." 

"Shouri . . ." 

I clasped his shoulder. "Friends, remember?" 

He put his hand over mine. "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saitama is both a prefecture and a city in Japan, located very slightly north of Tokyo and within the Greater Tokyo metropolitan area. Apparently it's a popular place to live for people who need to commute into Tokyo proper. I have no idea whether it actually has a Wisteria Avenue or not.


	2. Chapter 2

Yamada came through for us. I don't know what kind of story he gave the hospital, but an hour later, they released Geneus into my care, and after copious promises to make sure he wasn't left alone for more than a few minutes for the next twenty-four hours, we were free to go. 

Outside, the rain had lightened to a drizzle that wasn't even worth wielding an umbrella against. Geneus and I crossed the street to the bus stop together. I was impressed by his self-control: he never looked to either side except at the crosswalk, and even there he only imitated what I was doing, despite the fact that the environment had to be utterly strange to him. Even the arrival of the bus didn't seem to startle him, and he followed me aboard without hesitation. 

At this hour of the night, pretty much every seat in the bus was open, and we sat side-by-side as I pulled out my cell phone to check where Wisteria Avenue East was . . . which, in turn, made me wonder what Murata had been doing in that part of the city so late in the day. Regardless, it wasn't on this bus route, so we were going to have to ride all the way to the terminal and make a change there. 

Geneus did look out the window as the bus moved along, although he managed to make it look like he was doing it casually. "So very different," he murmured at one point, as the bus stopped at a railway crossing. Fortunately, he was sensible enough to do it in Mazoku. "I take it that all these devices—the lights, the vehicles, your 'phone', and so on—are not powered by houryoku." 

I shook my head. "It's electricity, mostly." I chose the English word, since Mazoku didn't have one. "Lightning would be the form of that you're most familiar with, I guess. We've figured out how to generate it under controlled conditions and put it to work." 

"Lightning. And it does . . . all of this?" 

"Pretty much. If you want a technical explanation of how it works, you're going to have to ask someone else, though—I've been mostly studying politics and economics, not engineering." 

"For now, the basic overview will suffice." Geneus shook his head. "I thought our world had advanced greatly in two thousand years, but this . . ." 

"Most of what you're seeing around you has come about in the past two centuries," I said. "Up until then, this world would have been a lot closer to what the other world is still like. We've made massive advances in just about every area: medicine, agriculture, communications, manufacturing, transport . . . and, unfortunately, weapons. There are other downsides too, like factories pouring filth into the air and water . . . We've been trying to get that under control lately, but there are still some places that people have ruined so thoroughly that they may never recover. We've spent a lot of time improving the lot of humanity at the cost of everything else around us." 

"Which only proves that human nature has not changed." 

"I suppose it hasn't, at that." 

"And yet, I have not seen a single person here wearing anything I would recognize as a weapon." 

"You won't, usually. It's illegal in most civilized places in this world to carry weapons unless you have a job that requires it . . . and there aren't many of those, especially here. And I'm not sure you would recognize our most common weapons for what they are . . ." Thoughtfully, I muttered a few words under my breath. Apparently, there were Mazoku words for _gun_ and _cannon_ but nothing for _rifle_ , _pistol_ , or _machine gun_. Now that I thought about it, I'd seen primitive firearms a couple of times on the other side, mostly in the hands of Cimaronese humans. "We probably don't have as many wars, but the ones we do have tend to be nasty." 

Geneus' expression was thoughtful. "So this world has both advantages and drawbacks . . . which is the normal state of the cosmos, I suppose. I am not certain I would wish to spend a lifetime here—while there appear to be a wealth of interesting things to learn, I think I would always feel out of place." 

_Even I feel out of place here sometimes,_ I thought as the bus pulled into the terminal. As a kikokushijo—someone born abroad who had returned to Japan when I was already well into primary school—I had never quite fit in in this country, and that was without considering the additional wrinkle of my being the first Earth-born Mazoku in fifty years to inherit a usable level of maryoku. 

The bus ride from the terminal to the stop just off Wisteria Avenue was shorter—only about ten minutes—and the bus itself was fuller, so we stood and held straps and didn't bother with any conversation. We found the 2100-2200 block without any trouble. The buildings along there mostly had small shops on the ground floor: a florist's, a bakery, a couple of gift shops, and a convenience store. All of them except that last were shuttered for the night. 

2140 was the bakery. Judging from the sign on the door that showed the opening hours, it must have already been closed when Murata had arrived there, unless Geneus had been at the hospital longer than I had thought. A careful examination of the shadowy corners of the entranceway produced a slender leather folder containing Murata's student card and transit pass, but there was no indication of who had attacked him, or with what. 

I leaned back against a wall with a tired curse. "So much for that. I have no idea where to look next." 

"Shouri, what is that?" 

I followed the line of Geneus' finger, and blinked. _A security camera?_ And the wire led back to the still-open convenience store next door . . . 

"Our last chance, it looks like," I said out loud. "It's a device for . . . Never mind, you'll see, if I can convince them to let us look at the records." 

It did take quite a bit of convincing. The counter clerk said he didn't have the authority to show us the security footage, and passed us to the night manager. The manager said he didn't have the authority either, but I waved a wad of cash under his nose and convinced him to look the other way. 

The camera—and its brothers on the other side of the building, at the front entrance, above the cash inside, in the storage room, and out by the rear loading dock—turned out to be old and primitive, recording grainy black-and-white images to one of several VCRs in an unlabelled rack. Judging from the labels on the tapes, they kept the footage for about a week before recording over it. A small TV just as old as the other equipment, with yet another VCR attached, was provided for reviewing the footage. 

The manager swapped the tapes for us, and we sat down on plastic chairs to look through the last five hours of recording. 

I fast-forwarded through about thirty minutes of tape, with the VCR squealing in protest, before I found Murata. The timestamp in the upper corner of the picture as he approached the entrance to the bakery indicated he'd made his appearance at around twenty to nine. He had his hands stuffed into his pants pockets, and he was looking around . . . not nervously, but alertly. As though he expected something to happen. 

For several minutes, nothing did, and I hit the fast-forward again. It was a bit after nine by the embedded timestamp when a second person entered the scene. I frowned, backed up a bit, and hit the pause button. A man, probably not Japanese, maybe my age or a little older—it was hard to tell when all I had to go on was a crappy black-and-white picture with less resolution than my cell phone camera was capable of. He was wearing a sleeveless shirt, nondescript pants, and sandals. A straw hat that looked like something out of a period drama dangled at his back, held in place by a string, and he wore a double-stranded necklace whose details I couldn't quite figure out. He also had tattoos or some other kind of markings running up and down his arms in a swirly non-pattern. 

Geneus said nothing, but there was a subtle change in his breathing as the man came into view, and a glance out of the corner of my eye showed that he was frowning at the screen. He knew, or at least suspected, something about the stranger . . . but that could wait until we'd put together the rest of the basic picture. 

I unpaused the video. Murata and the stranger appeared to be talking, but there was no sound and I'd never learned to read lips. The Great Sage had shifted slightly, placing his back to the street, when something that looked like a boomerang entered the frame, clipped him near the ear, then bounced off a wall and clattered to the ground before it could return to whoever had thrown it. Murata, clearly dazed, crumpled to his hands and knees. The stranger moved around to stand behind him and pulled out a small bottle and an irregular chunk of crystal nearly the size of my fist— 

"Houseki!" Geneus hissed. I didn't know how he could tell, but when the crystal started glowing, it became obvious that he was right. The stranger extended the hand holding the bottle, turning it neck down, and a sphere of radiance detached itself from Murata's body and popped into the container. The houseki dimmed, the stranger pocketed it, the bottle was corked, inverted, and pocketed as well, and he bent to pick up the boomerang before quickly walking away. Time required: less than a minute. 

I pulled out my cell phone and rewound the tape again until I could get a couple of reasonably clear shots of the stranger, especially his face and those intricate marks on his arms. I'd forgotten how much I hated trying to do that kind of thing with a VCR. You'd pause the tape and there would be a band of static across the screen, or the picture would jump twitchily for no apparent reason . . . It took longer to get two decent photos than it had for the stranger to pack Murata away inside his soul bottle, I swear. I was relieved to be able to turn the equipment off. 

Then I turned to Geneus. "You know something about that man," I said in Mazoku. 

"I believe it would be more accurate to say that I _did_ know something about him. Those patterns on his arms tickle at my memory, but I think they pertain to an incarnation of which I recall only fragments." 

I blinked. "So there are past lives that you don't remember?" 

"It seems to be a matter of personality: the more different a previous incarnation is from my present self, the more difficult it is for me to forge a connection, and the retrieval of memory is based on such connections." 

"Okay, well . . . tell me if you remember anything." 

"I shall." 

On the way out of the store, I asked the counter clerk where to find the nearest police kiosk. The answer turned out to be "around the corner and a block and a half down." 

Outside, the clouds had broken up, and a sliver of moon was making itself visible. As we waited to cross a street, Geneus looked up and frowned. "There are no stars," he said softly. 

"There are, but we can't see them," I replied. "There's too much light here on the ground." 

"Ah." He didn't say anything else. I wondered what he was thinking, but his expression was . . . distant, I guess. Not encouraging questions. 

There were two officers on duty at the police kiosk, one of them napping in his seat while the other played games on his cell phone. As we entered, the guy with the phone paused his game with a loud _bleep-boop_ and looked up. 

"How can I he— Wait, you're Shibuya, aren't you? Shouri Shibuya-dono?" 

"And you're . . . Ootsuka-san," I said slowly. "The one Bob introduced me to a couple of months ago." 

"I'm flattered that you remember," the young Earth-born Mazoku said. "How may I be of service?" 

I glanced at the other cop. Ootsuka snorted. "Oh, don't worry about Ebara—he sleeps like a log. He'll wake up if you touch him, but otherwise you'd have to toss a grenade in here to get him to open his eyes." 

I took a deep breath. "All right, then. Introductions first, I guess. This is Geneus. He's from the other side . . . except that his body isn't." Ootsuka blinked. "The body is that of the current incarnation of the Great Sage, Ken Murata. Up until a few hours ago, both their souls were in there together. Then Murata's soul was stolen, leaving Geneus as the sole occupant. We're trying to find the thief." 

Ootsuka blinked several more times as he tried to absorb this. "Do you have any leads at all?" he said at last, in a rather plaintive tone. 

"One," I said. "We got these off a security camera overlooking the site of the theft." I pulled up the first of the pictures on my phone, and handed it to him. 

"That isn't very . . ." Ootsuka's voice trailed off as he stared at the picture. "I know this guy." 

"Really?" Talk about hitting the jackpot! I'd expected it would be days before we found the bastard. 

"Well, I've noticed him around, anyway—those tattoos are hard to miss, and he never wears anything with sleeves. He first showed up a couple of weeks ago, and I think he's renting an apartment a couple of blocks from here . . . I'm not sure exactly which building, but if we talk to the manager of those units, we should be able to get an address. Let me wake Ebara up, and then we can go." 

Ebara really did come awake the moment Ootsuka touched him. The young policeman offered a vague explanation for why he needed to go with us, and his partner waved him off, stretched, yawned, and went over to the coffee maker in the corner. 

The block of apartments Ootsuka was thinking of really was a _block_ of apartments: six identical ten-storey buildings jammed together in a single city block. The manager apparently lived in the centre building on the far side, which had a fancy sign out front. Ootsuka insisted on going in to see him alone and I wasn't about to argue—the fewer people who could associate us with this mess, the better. 

Ootsuka returned a few minutes later with a pointer to the right building, an apartment number, and a (likely false) name for the tattooed man: Ngala Ket. I shot a quick glance at Geneus as the young cop gave us that name, but he shook his head minutely, which I took to mean that it wasn't familiar. 

When we reached the right apartment building, the elevator was out of order, or at least I couldn't get the call button to respond. I couldn't help but wonder if that was deliberate, but either way, it meant we had to climb the stairs to reach Ket's eighth-floor apartment. 

We stopped for a rest at the sixth-floor landing. While Geneus and I caught our breath (the old Geneus probably wouldn't have been bothered by a few stairs, but Murata's body didn't seem to be very well-conditioned), Ootsuka took out his gun and checked it over. 

"When we knock on his door, I want you two to stay out of line-of-sight," he said. 

I shook my head. "Ket, if that's really his name, is more likely to use magic than guns against us if he tries to attack. You've never had to deal with anything like that, but I have." 

Ootsuka frowned. "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? Besides, if he can't see you two, we might just be able to surprise him." 

"But—" 

"Shouri." Geneus said my name in a firm tone, and I forced myself to shut up. "Ootsuka-san is quite correct. Ket has been trying to keep a low profile here, so it is unlikely he will attack the moment a stranger crosses his threshold. It will be better for everyone concerned if we can get inside his rooms and shut the door before the inevitable confrontation begins, and that will be easiest if he is distracted." 

"I'll just tell him that I've been tipped off that there's a fugitive living at his address," Ootsuka said. "And give a description that can't be of anyone he's likely to have met. If he's from the other side, he probably won't know that I'd need a warrant, and if he's trying to keep a low profile, he'll probably want to escort me through the place and prove that he isn't hiding anything the size of a human being. If I can keep him from re-locking the door, you should be able to walk right in." 

"Thank you," I said. "I understand that you're sticking your neck out, doing all this." 

Ootsuka shrugged. "It's okay, really. I owe Bob a lot—he was the one who paid to put me through the police academy. This is just my way of paying him back." 

"I'll tell him that," I promised. 

Geneus fell in beside me as we started to climb again. "Be ready with a water barrier when he knocks on that door," he said very softly. 

"I know," I replied. If Ket did go ballistic before Ootsuka could sell him his bill of goods, I didn't want the young cop to get hurt. 

The eighth floor looked just like the glimpses of all the other floors that I'd caught through the glass panels in the stairwell's fire doors, with white walls, brown doors, and bland beige industrial carpeting. Ket's apartment was about halfway down the hall. A dark stain on the beige carpeting was just visible under the edge of the door, and I frowned, because what I'd seen of the rest of the building so far had been immaculate. 

We all took our places, with Geneus and I moving further up the hall so that we'd be hidden by the door when it opened. Ootsuka glanced at me, I nodded— _all set_ —and he took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

The door swung open—not as though someone from the other side had opened it, but as thought it hadn't been properly latched. _The hell . . . ?_

Ootsuka cleared his throat. "Ket-san, are you there?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't make up the word "kikokushijo"—figuring out how to handle kids who have done part of their growing up abroad is apparently an ongoing Thing in Japanese society. From the apparent ages in the episode "Distant Promise", Shouri must have been around eight or nine by the time the family moved back to Japan from the States.
> 
> And for those too young to remember them clearly: yes, video playback on a VCR could be quite that bad. And what businesses will keep around on the basis of "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" beggars belief.


	3. Chapter 3

The young police officer took half a step forward, then stopped again, making an odd sound in his throat. 

"What is it?" I asked sharply. 

"The stain showing under the door was blood," Ootsuka said. "There's a trail of it leading further into the apartment, and something just visible around the corner of the sofa . . . I can't see clearly, but it might be a foot." 

"Shit," I muttered in English. "It might be safest if you called for backup, but if you do . . ." 

" . . . we might never get the soul back," Ootsuka said. "I don't hear anyone moving, so I'm going to take a careful look around." 

I nodded. "If anything happens, I'll phone in anyway." 

The young cop gave me a fractional smile. "Thanks, Shibuya-san." 

He pulled his gun, put his back to the wall, and began to move cautiously forward, moving the pistol to sweep each new area he entered like a refugee from some action movie. I gritted my teeth, stuck my hands in my pockets, and waited. Geneus, lucky bastard, didn't seem to be much bothered by the tension in the air. I guess he had a lot of practice in dealing with that kind of thing. 

It took nearly five minutes for Ootsuka to sweep the entire apartment, while we stood in the hallway feeling conspicuous—well, _I_ sure did, at least. It was pure luck that none of the other doors opened before Ootsuka reappeared from the apartment's kitchen. 

"Come inside and don't touch anything," he said in a low voice. "Leave the door open so that you don't get any prints on the knob. And try not to step in the blood." 

"How bad?" I asked, also quietly. 

"Bad enough. Brace yourself. The only good thing is that the soul's in the open." 

I was about to take a step toward the door when I felt a hand on my arm. I turned to Geneus, who was giving me a sober look from behind Murata's glasses. 

"Shouri . . . you may wish to breathe through your mouth." 

_I guess he figured out that I've never seen a dead body at close quarters before._ His concern . . . touched something inside me. It wasn't just that he seemed to care about me, it was that he was able to express it without smothering or diminishing me. 

"Thanks," I said softly. "Do you want to go first?" 

He smiled. "And keep your line of retreat clear? Certainly." 

I did catch a brief whiff of the smell, like someone had bled all over the filthiest latrine in the world, and then added a note of I don't even know what. Breathing through my mouth was a bit better, but it left my tongue feeling coated with something unpleasant. 

Ket's body was sandwiched in between the sofa and a coffee table. There was no question of what had killed him: the knife was still embedded in his back, and it was difficult to tell for sure, but I thought the expression on his face was one of surprise. For some reason, he wasn't wearing a shirt, and I saw that the swirling tattoos decorating his medium-brown skin continued over his shoulders, chest, and back, and down into the waistband of his pants. 

The soul bottle was standing on the coffee table. In front of it was a line of odd shapes that looked like someone had drawn them in blood with his finger. 

"Wrong one," Geneus said. 

I blinked. _Huh?_

"That is what the text reads. I do not remember what the language is called, but evidently I knew it at some point." 

I took another look at the line of . . . text. Eight characters, including a circle with an X across it, recognizable drawings of a tree, a flower, and an animal's paw, and something that looked like a squished version of the kanji for "mountain", or maybe a very stylized comb with three teeth. 

"Almost like ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics," I muttered, and Geneus blinked. 

"'Ancient'—a primitive writing system. Why can I not remember . . . ?" 

I turned to Ootsuka. "Is there anything else we should know before we grab the bottle and get out of here so you can call in your backup?" 

"Well, one interesting thing, anyway. The knife that killed him . . . well, look for yourself." 

I looked, and, well, it wasn't really a knife at all. What I could see of it was flat and triangular, like an oversized arrowhead and . . . chipped from stone? With a wooden handle that had a couple of feathers, now blood-matted, tied to it with leather thongs. It looked like someone had found it in an ancient temple in a rain forest somewhere. It sure as hell didn't match anything I'd ever seen in Japan or Shin Makoku before. 

"Did you find a boomerang anywhere in here?" I asked slowly. 

"Not yet." 

"This one would be pretty hard to miss," I said, gesturing my best estimate of its sized based on what I had seen in the security camera footage. 

"I'll keep an eye out for it if they let me stay," Ootsuka said. "That's the best I can do." 

"I understand," I said, and picked up the soul bottle. I guess souls don't weigh very much, because it might as well have been empty. I put it in the gym bag I'd been uselessly carrying through all of this nonsense, cushioned by the spare clothes Geneus had turned out not to need. "Let's go." 

We had to do the double bus-ride in reverse to get back home, although with the recovery of Murata's transit pass I at least didn't have to fumble through my pockets for exact change every time we got on the bus. Again, Geneus spent most of the ride staring out the window. I spent it with my mind going around in circles instead: if he chose to leave Murata's soul in that damned bottle, and I really couldn't see why he would choose otherwise, what in hell was I going to do about the orphaned spirit? And how was I going to tell Yuuri? At the same time, the thought of asking Geneus to give Murata's body back over to the original occupant left me with a cold knot in the pit of my stomach, and it wasn't just because I believed he'd suffered enough. 

I didn't want to lose him. My only Mazoku friend. 

We covered the block-and-a-half between the bus stop and the front door without breaking our mutual silence. Geneus looked at the yard, at the neighborhood, up at the moon . . . at anything but me, really, as I unlocked the door. 

It wasn't until I had toed off my shoes, with Geneus carefully imitating me, that I forced myself to speak. "My family's away for the next few days, so you can make yourself at home without having to worry about explaining what's happened. I'm going to take this—" I slapped the bag dangling against my hip. "—upstairs, and make some tea. Then we can talk." 

"As you wish." 

The kettle was already full, so I turned it on and hauled myself upstairs, dropped the bag on my unmade bed, and extracted the soul bottle to take back down with me again. It was probably a little odd of me to bring it into the living room on a tray with two mugs of green tea and a half-dozen cookies haphazardly arranged on a plate, but really, what else was I supposed to do with it? 

Geneus was staring at our TV set with a thoughtful look on his face . . . which wouldn't have been unusual if it had actually been on. Well, he'd seen the screen on my phone and probably recognized this as its much larger cousin—I guess he was wondering why we would need one so big. 

I set the tray down on an end table, picked up one of the mugs of tea, and went over to offer it to him. He accepted it with a wordless nod and a half-smile, curling his hands around the mug as though he was cold. I flopped down on the sofa and picked up the other one, deliberately angling my body so that the soul-bottle wasn't within my field of vision. It still felt like it was staring at my back, though. 

To my surprise, Geneus sat down beside me rather than taking one of the chairs. 

"It's pretty obvious that whoever threw the boomerang also killed Ket," I said, and took a sip of my tea. "Question is, whose soul were they after, if it wasn't Murata's, and why did they feel it was important enough to come to this world to look for it?" 

"There are not very many people who walk between the worlds and would be more easily accessible on this side," Geneus said. "Truth be told, I count only three: _him_ , yourself, and your brother." 

_Yuuri . . ._ My hands clenched tight around my mug. Mistaking Murata for me wasn't likely, but mistaking Murata for Yuuri, if they didn't have a good description, was . . . possible. Mind you, there had to be at least a couple of thousand boys of about the right age in the city, so why hadn't there been more mysterious coma cases making the news? Unless . . . well, Bob had told me more than once that majutsu came from the soul . . . 

"Is there any way to distinguish between the soul of someone who can use majutsu and someone who can't?" I asked. 

"If one has houjutsu or majutsu oneself . . . which would not have been an issue in this case, I think." 

I grimaced agreement and drank more tea. "This is going to be a pain. I'm going to have to talk to those teachers at Yuuri's school again, and warn them." Yuuri had no idea that his homeroom and science teachers were both Mazoku, and I'd convinced Bob to keep it that way. "Any idea what I should have them look for, other than a guy with a bottle and a boomerang?" 

Geneus spent several seconds in frowning silence. "The tattoos," he said at last. "Again, I do not remember why, but they are . . . significant." 

"So have visitors roll up their sleeves, right." 

"They would also tend toward a darker skin tone than seems common here, and brown hair rather than black." A delicate pause. "Are you going to tell him?" 

"Yuuri?" 

Geneus nodded. 

"Some of it. I don't see how we can hide that you've taken Murata's place—really, I don't think it's a good idea to try—but the note on the table, and the fact that we think they're coming for him? That part he doesn't need to know. He'd just end up doing something stupid. Plus, if he gets involved with this directly and ends up having to use majutsu to defend himself . . . well, it could ruin his life here. He'd never be able to come back to this side. It would mess things up for us, too—for my family. At least for a while." 

A quiet, sad smile. "You will not need to attempt to conceal my current condition from him, Shouri, because I will not be staying." 

My hand jerked, and I spilled tea down the side of the sofa. "What? You can't . . . _Why?!_ " 

"You have said that I have as much right to a body as . . . Murata . . . does, and perhaps I do, but there is more to it than that. He has friends, presumably, and a family, even if estranged. A life, in the here-and-now. People who would be hurt if he were to vanish. If he remains in that bottle, or passes on, he will leave behind a hole in both worlds. Whereas I . . . I doubt anyone but you will notice my passing." 

"And I don't matter?" 

"Of course you do. But if I must weigh your heart against those of dozens, perhaps even hundreds of others . . ." 

All of a sudden, I couldn't look at him. I understood, and if I'd been in his position I might even have made the same decision, but . . . 

"Shouri. There is something I would like you to do for me." 

"All you have to do is ask," I said around the growing lump in my throat. 

"Then . . . hold me. If this is to be my last night, I want to spend it with the warmth of another person beside me." 

It might have been a little embarrassing if I'd let myself think about it, so instead, I just did it—put my tea mug down with one hand while sliding the other arm carefully between his back and the sofa cushions until I could wrap it loosely around him. He sighed and scooted closer on the sofa until he was resting his cheek on my shoulder, leaning against my chest and practically sitting in my lap. I took his tea, set it aside, and began to slowly stroke his back and hair, telling myself that no one was ever going to see us, or know that I felt surprisingly comfortable like this . . . even though it was Murata's bony body I was clutching. And he had his arms around me, too . . . when was the last time I had been this close to another person? I couldn't remember. It might have been years. 

We stayed there like that for a long time—maybe as much as an hour, although I wasn't keeping track. Then Geneus sighed and raised his head. 

"There is one other thing," he said softly. "I intend to let his soul push me out of this body, and I ask that you not attempt to force me back in here. The knowledge that _he_ , of all people, has free access to my memories, is . . . extremely distasteful. I would prefer to go on to my next life rather than give myself over to him a second time." 

The lump in my throat was almost strangling me, but I forced out, "If that's what you really want." 

He tilted his head up then, and leaned in a bit, pressing his mouth against mine. I was caught off-guard, lips slightly parted. Maybe I could have resisted, but I wasn't going to—I mean, it was pretty much his last wish. And then I discovered that I didn't _want_ to resist, because I'd never been kissed like that before, with my partner's tongue moving expertly against mine, teasing me until I actually started to get an erection, even though I'd never found Murata's body at all attractive. 

When he finally, slowly withdrew, all I could do was sit there and gape at him. He smiled sadly and patted my cheek. 

"Thank you, Shouri. For everything." 

"I wish I could have done more," I blurted out. 

"I know." He moved away from me, settling himself on the other half of the sofa. The soul bottle was in his hands—when had he grabbed it? While he was kissing me?—and he closed his fingers around the cork and yanked, opening his mouth to receive Murata's soul in what might be the last action he ever took. 

He didn't swallow it. The white globe just slid inside his mouth and . . . dissipated, I guess. A moment later, a different orb slid from between Murata's lips—I could tell it wasn't the same one because there was a rippling line of purple moving across its surface. 

Maybe it was a stupid thing to do, I don't know, but I couldn't help myself. I reached out and caught it in the cupped palm of my hand. It was weightless, without form or texture, but I could feel a slight warmth when it brushed against my skin. I pulled it toward me, shifting my grip so that I had both hands cupped gently around it. 

"I'm sorry," I whispered, knowing that he probably couldn't hear me. The lump in my throat expanded until I could barely breathe, and my eyes stung . . . and then tears began to roll hotly down my face. "I won't let it . . . _can't_ let it . . . There has to be a way. We'll find you a body. In the meanwhile . . ." 

I looked at the soul bottle . . . but no, I couldn't subject him to that. I didn't know whether disembodied souls had any perception of the world around them, but if he was aware at all it would feel like a prison. Murata's body wasn't an option either. That left . . . 

I swallowed and gently brought my hands in toward my chest. I felt a warmth as the soul passed through my skin, then a sort of internal shock as it settled behind my breastbone. The world spun for a few seconds . . . and then it was as though nothing had happened. 

I scrubbed my hand across my face, then took the empty bottle and put it down carefully on the end table, with its cork beside it, wondering if I'd just done something very stupid . . . although Geneus' presence inside him for the last year didn't seem to have hurt Murata. Murata, who was now blinking awake, leaning against the far end of the couch . . . jerking his head up and drawing a deep breath— 

"Relax," I said firmly. "We're alone in the house, and the people who attacked you aren't here." 

He let his breath out again, blowing a dangling bit of hair out of his eyes in the process. He also explored the dressing on his head with his fingers. "Does my family know about any of this? I mean, I doubt you taped me up, so I must have been to the hospital . . . you didn't steal me, did you?" 

I snorted. "Got delusions of being a damsel in distress, now? Or maybe the female lead in a porn film? No, I didn't steal you. Your body wasn't exactly untenanted in your absence." 

"Of course. Geneus. I . . . tend to forget he's in here with me." Murata suddenly frowned. "Or _is_ he in here? His memories . . . don't seem very immediate anymore." 

I shook my head. "He said he didn't want to stay with you, and I should just let your soul push his out." 

Murata seemed to shrink slightly. "Oh." A long pause, then, "My family?" 

"Bob found someone to pretend to be your father. So long as no one checks up on you at the wrong time, everything should be okay." 

"And . . . how much do you know?" 

I gave him a narrow-eyed look. "Not nearly as much as I'd like. We found you in a bottle in an apartment. With a dead guy. Who pretty clearly didn't kill himself. Someone had used his blood to scribble some crap around the bottle that Geneus claimed meant 'wrong one', although he couldn't remember what language it was in. This is about Yuuri, isn't it?" 

"Of course not." Murata answered just a shade too quickly, in my opinion. 

"So they came here from the other world for a vacation by the banks of the beautiful Arakawa River?" 

Murata rolled his eyes. "They're members of a religious sect called the Kyel-bware, from an island nearly a thousand kilometers south of Shin Makoku. They have this weird belief that when they find the right soul and sacrifice it to their god, they'll bring about paradise on Earth—well, paradise-on-that-world, anyway. Their priests are all houjutsu masters, and if you get a couple of dozen of them and a large enough houseki together, they can break the barrier between worlds. They're fanatical enough not to care that it's a one-way trip for them. Anyway, I doubt they even know that Yuuri exists. There are no Mazoku in those islands, and the Maoh is the bogeyman they use to make children eat their vegetables and go to bed on time." 

I snorted. That was all true, I was pretty sure, and yet there was something still missing. Unfortunately, if Murata didn't want to tell me, there wasn't much I could do about it. I couldn't even use the nuclear option I sometimes visited on Yuuri, because the little bastard wasn't in the least ticklish. 

"Still, I want you to keep an eye on him when you're together," I said. "And warn Conrad and Gwendal, the next time you're in the other world, just in case. You'll have to choose for yourself whether or not you want to tell Yuuri what happened—I won't, unless I see a need." 

"Has anyone ever told you you're paranoid, Shibuya's-big-brother?" 

"When it comes to Yuuri, no precaution is too great," I said firmly. "Anyway, I don't know about you, but I've got classes tomorrow. You can crash in the guest room for what's left of the night, if you like—it's—" I checked. "—nearly three AM, and Geneus wasn't wasting any of his time sleeping." 

"He would have been fascinated by this world," Murata said. 

"Yeah, and he deserved a chance to explore it," I said flatly. Let him think I was angry. If he figured out I'd pretty much kidnapped Geneus' soul, I wasn't sure what his reaction would be. "Good night." 

As I curled up in my own bed, I found myself lightly touching my chest, wondering if I'd really done the right thing, and what it was going to mean.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the first bit of this chapter seems confusing, stick with it and All Will Shortly Become Clear. ;)
> 
> Warning for very minor consent issue (bondage performed on sleeping person who has previously agreed to such things off-screen).

**Six months later**

I stripped off my boots while I was still in the hall, and frowned as I discovered just how cold the floor was. Well, we were well into autumn, and if I had wanted to hold the sun's heat, this type of stone would not have been my choice. 

Inside the room, moonlight spilled through the windows, illuminating the four-poster bed and its occupant. I felt his maryoku touch mine briefly, and then slither away again: even in sleep, he was wary, but he knew me for a friend. 

I smiled quietly as I set down what I had been carrying at the foot of the bed, and began to strip off my clothes, folding them carefully on a chair. He could be such a fool at times, the man lying in that nest of blankets . . . as he was about to discover. 

Since he had assessed me as not-foe, he did not stir as I lifted the corner of the bedding and flipped it back, exposing him to the night air—he only muttered into the pillow and developed a few goose-pimples. Even when I urged him to roll over onto his stomach, he did nothing more than sigh and try to burrow into the mattress. 

We would just have to fix that . . . but not quite right away. Ropes first. The ice-white silk contrasted nicely with his fading tan as I looped it about his wrists. I had considered red, but it would have looked too dark in the moonlight—even black, perhaps, and there was enough black in this room already. 

Again, he only mumbled at the pillow when I drew his arms up and tied them to the carven headboard. He finally began to stir when I secured his left ankle, and experience caused me to loop the final rope around his other leg quickly, fingers flying to finish the knots. 

" . . . the hell . . . ?" came the dazed mutter as he tugged at his wrists, and I allowed myself a moment to admire the sight of him, neatly pinned with all of his charms on display. It made a delicious warmth settle in the pit of my belly. 

"Two weeks," I said as I settled myself between those fine, muscled legs, and he jerked. "Such a short time I have been gone." 

"You could just have told me you were back," he said, awake now. 

"Mmm. I believe I also told you to be polite to the Sveleran ambassador . . . ?" 

"Did you?" 

I spanked him, making him jerk again. The abrupt and forceful contact of flesh with flesh made a loud, harsh noise in the otherwise quiet bedroom. "Do not lie to me." 

A sigh. "You know how that man gets on my nerves. I was just trying to get a few minutes' peace—I didn't mean to send him back to Svelera with a bearbee up his ass." 

I struck him again, but this time all I received in return was a grunt. "Do you have any idea what we will have to offer them now, in order to maintain our peace? We cannot afford another war. Not now. How many must die because you will not endure a few days of irritation?" I punctuated that with several more blows to the palest part of his body, which was now turning a satisfying shade of pink. "But no matter. By the time I am done punishing you, you will be incapable of _ever_ forgetting what you have been responsible for." 

There was a small movement against the sheets, and I looked between his thighs to see a gold ring rub against the surface of the mattress as the flesh to which it was attached lengthened . . . _hardened_. 

"You are truly the most perverse—and perverted!—man I have ever known," I said, glad that he could not see me smiling . . . or the state of _my_ manhood, for that matter, since it was no less eager than his. Two weeks was far too long, but I intended to make this memorable first. 

I slid back off the bed, and padded across the floor to take the lit candle I had brought with me from its wall niche. It had been burning for a while, and developed a nice pool of melted wax. Good. 

I knelt between his legs once again, and thoughtfully examined the expanse of his back, the fading tan interrupted by old, pale scars, and the smooth muscles that underlaid the skin. I chose my starting point, and tipped the candle. 

The touch of the hot wax made him yank at his bonds. "You son of a—" 

"Do you want me to stop?" I interrupted in level tones . . . although I already knew the answer. His manhood was harder, if anything, and heat could not truly damage one bound to the element of fire. The wax would sting, and leave a bit of redness behind, but both would be gone by morning. 

Breath hissed between his teeth. "No, damn you, I don't want you to stop!" 

"Good," I said, and tipped the candle again. 

I took my time, although given the crudity of the drawing instrument and the way the surface that was to bear my design heaved at its touch this would be no artistic masterpiece. Whenever I paused to ponder I moved myself forward just a bit, until the tip of his erection was trapped between my knees, and I was able to slip the tip of mine between his buttocks to tantalize us both. He snarled at me when I rose from the bed to put the candle safely aside and take up the oil instead, but I ignored that. 

"More than ready, I see," I said, running a slick finger down the underside of his manhood and tugging gently at the ring piercing the tip, eliciting an eager twitch from the sensitive flesh and a curse from its owner. "Now why should I give you anything you want after all the work you have made for me, hmmm?" _Even though I owe you everything._

"Because you want it just as much as I do." 

"Do I?" 

"You're pressing against the side of my leg," he pointed out . . . and so I was, just below his left knee. 

"Ah. An oversight." 

"That isn't like you." 

_Because I was worrying about you all the way out to the new Wincott lands, and all the way back again._ But rather than say that, I slid my fingers between his buttocks to probe at the opening there. I was surprised to find it . . . not unoccupied. Wood. Cord. A familiar carving that indicated the portion of it inside him was wide and rounded and too short to reach the place where I would have thought he would want to have it. 

"Why this one?" I asked. 

"Because using them on my own never feels the same," he said. "I only had it in to make sure I stayed loose enough that you wouldn't have to stretch me. It takes too long, and I don't want your fingers, I want your co—" 

I spanked him. "Do not be vulgar." 

He actually laughed. "There can't possibly be another man like you anywhere. You're glorious. And beautiful. And brilliant." 

"And flattery will not make me proceed any faster." Once again, I was thankful he could not see me, for I could feel my face flushing with a warmth that owed nothing to my arousal. I played with the toy inside him, using what little leverage I had from the outside to alter its angle, making him groan. 

" _Spirits,_ just get it out before I go mad." 

"Are you trying to give me orders?" I asked silkily. 

" _Please,_ Saïré! I need you! I'm begging you—take me, use me, do whatever you want to me, just don't leave again—" 

Aching, desperate sincerity, and I fought down the reflex that prompted me to say that no one could possibly need _me_ that much, not a reviled double-black . . . but he did. He did. He had proven that time and time again. 

"I should do just that," I said lightly. "Leave you tied here and go back to my own room to let you contemplate your sins until the dawn breaks." I cut off his moan of disappointment by bending forward to press a kiss to his shoulder, the first taste I had had of him tonight, faintly salt with the sweat of arousal. "Fortunately for you, I missed you as well," I whispered. 

The toy came loose from his body with a soft pop. I laid it aside and tested its former home with my fingers. He took three of them easily, already loose and slick. I thought I might have been able to introduce my entire hand . . . but not tonight. Tonight I wanted him as much as he wanted me, and sight of that pulsing, wanton opening was tearing at my restraint. 

I slicked myself quickly and guided my aching manhood into the heat of his body, and as I joined with him I let go, mote by mote, of my iron self-control, for I trusted him as I did no other. With him, I could permit myself to gasp and vent soft hungry cries and claw at his shoulders as we moved together in the oldest dance that ever was, to groan and push in harder as he made himself tighten around me. He would not punish me for being eager, for _wanting_ . . . _Spirits,_ how I loved him! And I made certain to show him that, to press with each thrust against the spot that the toy had not been able to reach, to grope in and down at an awkward angle and take his manhood into my hand and caress it. And he voiced his appreciation fully, cries echoing from the walls as he pulled on the ropes that bound his hands. He had never been a quiet lover. 

"More," he begged, trying to push back onto me, but the ropes gave him less than two inches in which to move. "Harder—please, I'm going to— _oh . . ._ " He howled a long, low note and stiffened, body tightening, maryoku erupting, flowing over mine and setting my body alight in a secret, special way I had never experienced with anyone but him. My own climactic cry was softer, a quiet shiver in the air as heat shot through me and I filled him with my seed. 

It took a moment afterwards for me to recover myself, leaning forward over him with my black hair tickling his shoulders and making his skin pebble. Gently, I pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck and withdrew my body from his, then wiped the mess from skin and sheets before it could soak in too much. Only when we were both clean did I move to release his bonds. 

"I have a merlion on my back, don't I?" he said as he rolled over onto his side. 

"I am surprised you could tell," I said from where I sat on the edge of the bed coiling the ropes, feet tucked up and away from the cold floor. 

He smiled at me, blue eyes twinkling in the moonlight. "There aren't many points on which I'd describe you as predictable, but that's one of them." He shifted slightly. "Mmm—I'm going to be feeling this tomorrow—no, don't heal it," he said as I reached for him. "I _want_ to feel it. You're one of the things that keeps me sane, despite everything." 

"How is your arm?" I asked softly. Even in this light, the marks of what had happened to him were clear, scattered across his skin like preternaturally dark bruises. 

"No worse, thank the Spirits." 

_And no better._ Not that it was likely to get better, but I could never completely strangle the forlorn hope that his tremendous power would flush the Originator's poison out of him at last. 

"I'm sorry about the Sveleran ambassador," he added quietly. "If paying him off is really going to be that much of a problem, I'll . . ." 

I heaved a sigh. "They will probably be glad to take a hundredweight or so of the houseki that we are trying to remove from the southern provinces, but we will have to send someone who is capable of being diplomatic to make the peace offering—Erhart, I suppose, although I hate to ask it of him so soon after he has settled himself and his kin in their new home. Perhaps the Christ heir will volunteer in his stead." I made to get up off the bed, but a hand grasped my wrist and tugged me back down again. 

"Stay with me until morning." 

"That would not be wise," I said. 

He chuckled. "But wisdom is your domain, not mine, my Sage. I am merely a king, and a lovesick fool. Stay." 

"As you wish, Shin'ou-heika." But I gave him a frown to press the point home. This was truly _not_ wise, even if our liaison was an open secret among the inhabitants of the castle. I might have proved my worth during the war, but there were still far too many who would see a love given by the king to one of my despised kind as . . . evidence of contamination. We could not wed, or even carry on our relationship without playing this foolish game of pseudo-concealment that would let those who were uncomfortable with it look the other way. 

He sighed. "Always so willful . . . which, I suppose, is part of why I love you so. I'll wake you at dawn so that you can creep across the hall to your own room, but until then . . ." 

I sighed too, and surrendered, burrowing between silk sheets and curling my body around his so that I could bury my face in his tumbled hair. And for the first time since I had left the castle two weeks ago, I relaxed fully. I did not have to be alert here, to sleep with one eye half-open just in case some inn-servant slipped past my guards to vent his superstitious fear of my black hair on my person. I was safe here. I could allow myself to slide down into the deep, healing sleep I so often denied myself . . . 

. . . and wake suddenly, disoriented, in a completely different room, with plastered walls and a white-painted ceiling and a soft hum filling the air. The hum, I realized slowly, was my computer, and I was Shouri Shibuya, not the Great Sage of Shin Makoku. And I'd thoroughly creamed the inside of the briefs I'd worn to bed. 

I sat up and raked a hand through my hair, which had to be the most incredible mess. It wasn't the first time, these past few months, that I'd woken up confused and uncertain of where—or who—I was, but it was the first time I'd been able to remember what had preceded it. 

"I don't begrudge you your dreams of a happier past," I muttered to the other soul inside my body, "but next time could you pick something other than kinky sex with Shin'ou?" Kinky, _hot_ sex with Shin'ou, the memory of which made my cock twitch even though I'd come so recently the spunk hadn't cooled yet. My dedication to Yuuri had robbed me of the free time necessary to conduct a proper romance, so I was still a virgin despite having just turned twenty-two—a fact I sometimes had to remind myself _not_ to be embarrassed about—so I'd never felt the hot clutch of another person's body around mine, or— _Oh, shit, I'm getting hard again. Try to think of something else, Shouri, like your Econometrics midterm . . ._

But no matter what I tried to do as I slid my legs over the edge of the bed and tottered along the hall to the bathroom, my mind kept returning to the details of the dream. Like the fact that Shin'ou had apparently had a Prince Albert. And that he and the Great Sage had both been _hung_ —I mean, neither of them had exactly pulled out a ruler and compared measurements, but I knew the approximate ratio between my own average length and the width of my hand, and they'd both been a _lot_ bigger. I would probably be able to scandalize half of Shin Makoku with the news of just how big a pervert their first king had been . . . or maybe not. It was a different culture, after all. For all I knew, they regarded BDSM between consenting adults as unexceptionable. 

And then there was the stuff that didn't have to do with the sex, or at least not directly, which I contemplated as I rinsed out my briefs and put them back on so that the heat of my skin would dry them and conceal the evidence of my wet dream from my mother. _They loved each other. They really did._ Or at least, the Sage had loved his King. I could still remember the warm, aching, bittersweet feeling that had flooded him as they'd touched and made love and cuddled and traded sharp-edged banter back and forth, and the pain that had filled him when they'd talked about the evidence of the Originator that had been spattered across Shin'ou's skin. It all made me feel . . . unexpectedly lonely. Until now, I'd never realized just how empty my life was, lacking that kind of partnership. 

I sighed, and scrubbed my hand across my face again. Thinking about it wasn't going to do me any good . . . and really, where was I going to find someone _I_ could feel that way about? Now that I'd had a taste of real love, the kind that made people do crazy things like dedicate their souls for four thousand years to a project for saving their lover, I doubted I was going to be able to settle for anything less. 

It was as difficult a problem as finding a new body for a disembodied soul. I hadn't come up with an answer to that one, either. Part of the problem was that there was literally no one on Earth that I could ask for help—the few people who might know something useful, like Murata and Bob, were exactly the ones I didn't want to explain the situation to. I was probably going to have to learn to read the Mazoku language, go back to the other world, and go through the libraries at Blood Pledge Castle and (if the priestesses would let me in) Shin'ou's Temple, and maybe talk to Anissina—not something that I was looking forward to, but she'd been able to create a temporary body for Gunter when he'd been hit by the Wincott poison, so she might be able to at least give me somewhere to start. And Yuuri was finally relaxing and not keeping so close an eye on me to keep from getting jumped in the bathtub, possibly because I hadn't mentioned the possibility of going back in a few months now. Ulrike had told me that I was still years of stringent training from being able to transport myself, even if I faithfully kept up the practice regimen she had given me. Which I had been, although using majutsu was tougher on this side. 

The problem, I reflected as I curled back up in bed, was finding a language tutor. Although I dreaded it, I was going to ask Bob for help with that, and think up some kind of excuse to keep him from probing my real motives. But first, I had to get through tomorrow's classes without looking like a zombie. 

I woke up late the next morning, scrambled into my clothes, and grabbed a slice of toast on the way out the door like a refugee from some manga about high school kids. Of course, that hypothetical high school kid wouldn't also have been picking up today's _Nikkei Shinbun_ , delivered to our door this morning, to read during the train ride into Tokyo. One advantage of getting to the station a bit late was that I didn't have to fight with the other commuters for space on the bus or the train, and could sit down and read at my leisure. 

I had four classes that day, and seven overall that semester—sometimes doing a double major was really the pits. No one at home had any idea how hard I worked on my education. Even a normal degree program at Hitotsubashi is no joke, unlike a lot of other Japanese universities. 

I made it through Investment Theory, Commercial Law, and lunch without falling asleep in my seat. Unfortunately, that damned Econometrics course was right after the meal. I was really starting to regret having taken it, but if I dropped it now . . . well, I'd have enough credits to graduate on time, but not to complete both of my majors. So I gritted my teeth and concentrated on writing down everything the professor mumbled at the whiteboard, interspersed with some comments about him that were in . . . possibly questionable taste . . . so that I didn't doze off. 

After that, I had an hour to kill before my last course of the day. I also had plenty of homework, so I hauled my ass over to the library and plopped myself down at my usual table at the back of the mathematics section to start thinning out the stack. 

Maybe picking that same table all the time wasn't such a good idea after all, because I didn't get more than ten minutes of peace. 

"Hey, Shouri, how are you?" 

"Busy," I said—in English, since that was the language I was being addressed in. "What are you doing here, Paul? I thought you never came within a hundred yards of the library." 

Paul Fletcher was an exchange student from the University of Queensland, in Australia. On his arrival at the beginning of the semester, one of the professors had dumped him on me because she knew I spoke native-quality English and Paul's Japanese had been a bit shaky. Since then, I'd been unable to get rid of the lazy, loudmouthed nuisance. Now he sat down opposite me without waiting for an invitation. "You're the only guy I know who actually attends that damned Econometrics class. I was hoping I could bum your notes." 

I rolled my eyes and slid the notebook across to him. "Help yourself." _So long as it gets you out of my hair._

"Thanks." He picked it up and paged through it, probably trying to figure out where he should start copying to get today's notes. Then he frowned. "What the hell? Half of this is written in chicken scratch!" 

Heroically, I repressed another eyeroll. "I would have thought you could read hiragana by now." 

"I wasn't talking about the hiragana. What _is_ this stuff, Arabic or something?" 

I plucked the notebook out of his hand. "It's—" _Perfectly normal Mazoku,_ my brain said, but I managed to keep the words from coming out of my mouth. "—just doodling," I finished, hoping that the words sounded smooth and unsuspicious. "You know how boring that class gets. All the actual lecture notes are in hiragana and kanji." It was just the irreverent asides I had written about the prof that weren't. 

"Oh. Well, okay. Thanks, then. I'll bring this back in a few minutes." 

I ignored him as he pushed back from the table, instead frowning down at my hands. Only hours ago, I'd been thinking that I needed to find a tutor to help me learn the language, and now I was I was apparently writing it with such perfect fluency I didn't even realize that I was doing it. 

I picked up my pencil again and slowly wrote my name in flowing, unfamiliar characters in the margin of my homework. _Sh-ou-r-i._ I barely even had to think about it . . . and really, there was only one place the knowledge could have come from. 

Geneus' soul was doing more than dreaming inside me. 

The question was, what did that _mean_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe the bit about Shouri attending Hitotsubashi (which is a real university located in Tokyo—thank you, Wikipedia) is part of the novel canon. I've stuck him with a double major in Commerce and Political Science, poor bastard, although the broad-but-shallow research I do for these 'fics doesn't extend to knowing what individual courses Hitotsubashi offers in those areas—I grabbed course lists to flesh out his curriculum from a couple of Canadian universities instead.
> 
> And the Nikkei Shinbun (Nihon Keizai Shinbun) is a leading Japanese newspaper specializing in business and economic information—kind of like the Wall Street Journal. It struck me as the sort of thing a banker like Shouma would read over breakfast.


	5. Chapter 5

The sunlight glittered off the water in the small pool. I tested it with my bare toes and found it warm . . . and for the first time in days, I was alone. 

I had not realized just how much sharing a tent with others would weary me. Had not realized that I would be terrified deep inside, able to catch only snatches of sleep, even though these people were supposed to be well-disposed towards me—or at least their leader's protection was supposed to restrain them short of the point of actually attacking me. But I did not entirely trust him, or them. However, we had so little equipment that until we acquired more, all needs must share . . . even him, the master of this mad place. 

I slid into the water with a sigh. There were two things I had come to miss since joining the encampment. The security of my private room, however small, was one, but regular baths were the other. Long hair is difficult to tend properly with a single daily basin of lukewarm water. 

I ducked my head under the surface for a moment, then lathered up the bar of harsh soap I had brought with me. The exercise of washing my thick black locks was soothing, a commonplace, and when it was done, I felt relaxed for the first time in what seemed like forever. 

"You aren't supposed to slip your guards and wander off alone, you know." 

I forced myself to turn slowly, without showing that his voice had startled me . . . and without trying to cover my body with my arms and hands. If I tried that, it would more than likely have an effect that was the opposite of what I wanted, I knew. 

"You are a fine one to talk," I said to the golden-haired man with eyes the colour of the summer sky, who was, as usual, quite alone. "You know as well as I do that the dolls and the Corrupted always approach in groups. The Originator musters no lone assassins." 

"I wasn't worried about _them_ ," he said, eyes shadowed. 

I tilted my head. "In that case, what makes the guards you assigned me any more trustworthy than the rest of your men? I know none of them, and so can only choose whether or not to fear the entire group." 

He snorted softly. "Haven't I given you any reason at all yet to trust my judgement?" 

"In point of fact, you have not," I said, then allowed my expression to soften. "My lord, those guards cannot protect me against petty harassment or a determined assassin rising from amongst their friends. For anything else, my own power should be sufficient." 

"Really? Those scars on your shoulders suggest otherwise." He crouched down at the edge of the pool, keeping his booted feet carefully clear of the water. "Are those from the stoning?" 

"If you were told about that, then you must also have been told that I do not remember the incident." _Or anything that came before it._ The old sensation of being utterly adrift rose in me, and I forced it back down. 

"Odd that one who wields the element of earth should be stoned." 

"I have told you that I do not remember!" I snapped. "Nor do I wish to." 

His eyebrows rose. "So if someone were to show up here right now and offer you all your memories back, you wouldn't take him up on it?" 

The water was starting to feel cold. "They began to return at one point. I suppressed them permanently, using houjutsu." And I had been ill for days afterward. 

Now, that did startle him. "But why?" 

"Because the fragments I recovered were nothing that should be visited on any man. I know that much, although I do not remember what they were. Now, would you kindly go away and leave me to bathe in peace?" 

"I enjoy watching you too much . . . although not when you have that expression on your face. You're beautiful, you know." 

"Do not mock me," I said bitterly. "I have had this hair and these eyes all my life, my lord, and they are _not_ beautiful." 

His smile had the brilliance of a ray of sun breaking through the Originator's cloud. "I disagree. The contrast with your skin is striking, and I like it very much. I think you're the most beautiful—and the most desirable—man I have ever met." 

He was clearly not expecting the spearpoint of stone that suddenly erupted beneath him, throwing him off-balance. I sharpened the tip just before I completed it, letting the sun wink off razor edges and a needle-fine point. 

"Do you think you are the first man ever to proposition me?" I said icily. "There is always someone who thinks he will display his mastery of the art of seduction by doing the unthinkable. But I will not be a toy—not yours, or anyone else's." 

He gathered himself up and slapped the dirt from his trousers, staring at my creation. "I'm sorry. I suppose . . . it was too soon. I shouldn't let myself forget how much you've suffered." 

"I want your pity no more than I want your lust," I snapped. "Get away from here." 

He sighed. "All right, then. I'll go. For today." 

And as I watched his retreating back, the world rippled and I was suddenly pushing aside the flap of a tent, _my_ tent, the first private place I had had access to in many months, weary and aching in every bone and wanting only to sleep. 

The sight inside, however, checked my stride for just an instant. The problem was less that I had expected the tent to be empty than what the interloper had done to himself. I knew how to deal with normal intruders, but not naked ones whose spread legs were tied to deep-driven stakes and whose arms were . . . 

"I borrowed them from that burnt-out town we ran across yesterday," the blonde man said, jingling the manacles whose chain had been passed around a tent-pole, forcing him to keep his arms extended above his head. 

"You look ridiculous," I said bitingly. 

He gave me a warm smile. "That was kind of the idea. I was hoping to reassure a certain skittish double-black that it was safe to come close to me . . . even to touch me." 

"Or perhaps you merely enjoy being bound and helpless." His manhood was certainly appreciative of the situation—the only reason it did not point straight up at the canvas overhead, I suspected, was that it was too heavy for even the massive amount of blood currently engorging it to push it up at such an angle. 

He blinked and looked down at himself, following my gaze. "Oh, that. Yes, I _do_ have a bit of a thing about being tied up, but that's mostly because of you. Like what you see?" 

Almost involuntarily, my gaze swept the length of his pinioned body. There was no doubt that he was an attractive man, moderately well-muscled like any good swordsman, tanned by the summer sun, with shapely legs (at present slightly bent to tilt his hips up in offering), sculpted chest and abdomen, and strong hands and arms and those incredible blue eyes . . . and a leaking, eager manhood resting on a bed of blonde curls, and, just barely visible below and behind that, pulsing subtly with hunger . . . 

"That's yours too, if you want it." 

I blinked at him, startled. "You would permit me to mount you?" 

" _Spirits,_ yes. Anything you want—any way in which my body can give you pleasure . . . I just want to be with you." 

"You are mad," I whispered. 

That smile . . . "They do say that love is a kind of insanity." 

What was this tremble of warmth inside of me, like nothing I had ever felt before? 

Slowly, I removed the armour weighing down my shoulders and set it aside on its stand. He watched me as I did it, but said nothing. I crouched down by his left ankle and pulled out the stake that was pinning it to the ground, then repeated the action on his right side. 

"Did you at least think to bring a key?" I asked as I examined the manacles and tent pole. 

"It's in my pocket." 

I could see no sign of his clothes. "And that pocket is . . ." 

"Underneath me." He wriggled invitingly and flashed me another of those smiles. 

"Your tactics are becoming annoying," I said. "Why are you so fixated with me? No sane man would do all of this merely in order to carve a notch in his belt." 

"I've been in love with you for more than eighty years." 

"You have scarcely known me three months," I pointed out acidically. 

He sobered. "That's true, but . . . Well. When I was just barely of age, my younger sisters—they were twins, and enough to drive a man to distraction—at any rate, they picked up on some old wives' tale about a spell that was supposed to allow you to catch a glimpse of your True Love." 

"And being like young girls everywhere, they no doubt wished to see if they could make it work," I said, biting back my impatience. Let him tell his story in order. 

"Exactly. It must have taken them a month to get together all the components—herbs and dew and spiderwebs and I don't know what else. The spell had to be cast when the sun and the moon were both in the sky, and they'd just snuck out the back door when my mother discovered that her silver serving bowl was missing, and ordered me to go find it. Apparently their spell needed a silver bowl, too. When I cornered them in a nook between the woodpile and the back of the summer kitchen, they were both staring into that bowl as though the spirits were performing a dance inside just for them . . . I don't know what they saw, but I do know what _I_ saw when I grabbed the thing to take it back: you, looking up from a book and smiling at me." 

I had perforce become a good judge of men's expressions over the years, and I did not think he was lying . . . or if he was, he had held to the lie so long and so tightly that he now believed it was true. 

"You stole my heart in that instant," he said, meeting my eyes. "I have treasured that one brief glimpse of you for decades, not thinking that you could possibly be real . . . and then I met you and fell in love all over again, although you were nothing like what I had imagined—wounded and skittish and sharp-tongued, but also beautiful and brilliant and strong. And even if we never become lovers, I will treasure you for the rest of my life." 

My hand reached out involuntarily, almost touching his face before I came to my senses and pulled it back again. "What are you doing to me?" I whispered. 

"Reeling you in," came the smug reply . . . but his eyes, still locked with my spoke only of longing and warmth . . . and lust, but he was merely a man, after all. 

"So I am a fish now?" 

He tilted his head to one side, eyes sparkling. "Most fish don't have one-tenth your beauty. Maybe . . . one of those glass serpents that live off the Sveleran coast. They're said to be beautiful creatures, although I've never seen one myself." 

I sighed. Glass serpents were indeed beautiful, but . . . I leaned forward, reaching for his chain, intending to use majutsu to open it without fumbling for the key—the lock was metal, and metal was earth and so susceptible to my powers, although such a manipulation would be delicate in the extreme—but he craned his neck and succeeded in bringing our faces together. 

I had never kissed anyone before, not that I could remember, and I was surprised by the warmth and sweetness of his mouth as he coaxed my lips apart . . . and outright shocked by the sudden heat and hunger that awoke between my legs. 

"I should leave you here and go to _your_ tent to ensure that I get a proper night's rest," I said, slightly breathless, when he released me at last. 

"But you won't," he said. 

"No, I will not," I admitted. "Nevertheless, I think I will leave you bound, since you seem to enjoy the position so much." 

"Oh, by all means," he said, and the look he turned on me was compounded of equal parts of laughter and lust as I began to remove my tunic— 

And then the world shook, and a distant voice called, "Hey, Shouri! Wake up!" 

I was profoundly disoriented as I came to, but Yuuri didn't seem to notice. "It's Mom's birthday tomorrow, remember? We have to go shopping." 

_Wha . . . ?_ It took a moment for the pieces of my scrambled mind to slide all the way back into place. _Oh . . ._

"If we'd gone last week, the way I _said_ we should, we wouldn't be scrambling to get it done at the last minute," I said. Then, before my brother could open his mouth, "I know, I know, you had baseball practice. Give me a minute to get dressed and figure out where I put my wallet." _And get my dick under control so that I can pack it into my pants._ After that dream, the raging erection was no surprise, but it was a nuisance. 

"Okay, we'll be waiting for you downstairs. Just don't take too long, or Murata and I'll leave without you." 

Except that they wouldn't, I reflected as Yuuri scurried out of the room. They needed my credit card if we were going to buy Mom anything half-decent. 

Really, I didn't know why Murata always insisted on coming along on this yearly gift-buying expedition. Yuuri had invited him along the year we'd had the whole debacle with the Forbidden Boxes, and since then it seemed like we couldn't get rid of him. Was he really so estranged from his family that he needed to come to us if he wanted to do . . . homelike things? _Maybe he is. Or maybe it's just that he has to work harder than most people to forget . . . stuff._ This was only the second dream I'd had—or at least, that I remembered clearly—that had contained an entire scene from the Great Sage's life, but there had been some other, fragmentary stuff in the week-and-a-half since the first one, and most of those shards had been filled with pain. 

_How did you deal with it?_ I wondered, and found myself pressing the palm of my hand against my breastbone, as I'd been doing more and more often lately. I shook my head and yanked at the nearest drawer, grabbing for a T-shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fear there will be a couple of additional chapters of Messing With Shouri's Head, and then about three more of Romance Plot Strand (all liberally interspersed with flashbacks and assorted dream sex) before the action plot picks up again. So, um, Tuesday or thereabouts?


	6. Chapter 6

"You know," Murata said some twenty minutes later, as we rode the bus toward the train station, "Wolfram's birthday is coming up too. Maybe you should get him something while we're at it, Shibuya. Or . . . maybe you had something else in mind as a present for him?" He smirked slyly. 

Yuuri blushed. "No, I do not! Besides, I'm not even sure he wants to . . . um . . . you know. With me. And I sure don't want to with him!" 

The smirk got even slyer. "Still, I think if you let him knock you up, he might stop acting so jealous around you." 

"Glgh?!" Yuuri's eyes were practically bulging out. I sighed. 

"That wasn't very funny, friend-of-my-brother. And it's a good thing it isn't possible, or I'd make both you _and_ Wolfram regret that you'd ever been born." 

If that damned smirk got any wider, Murata's face was going to split in half. "What makes you think it's impossible?" 

Yuuri rolled his eyes. "Because we're both _guys_ , in case you hadn't noticed." 

"You also both have more than enough maryoku to support a male pregnancy." 

My brother swallowed visibly. "Murata . . . _please_ tell me that you're not serious." 

"Well . . . you couldn't actually get pregnant without your cooperation, but other than that . . ." Pinned between a Look from Yuuri and one from me, Murata squirmed. "Hey, you would have had to find out sooner or later, and better that it happen before the wedding, right?" 

"There isn't going to _be_ a wedding," Yuuri muttered. I didn't say anything, but I did hope that this would push Yuuri into formally ending that stupid engagement. He was way too young for it, and Wolfram had never treated him the way I wanted to see my little brother treated. 

He must have been thinking about it pretty hard, because he said nothing as we boarded the train into Tokyo. Neither did Murata. I was glad, because the silence meant that I finally had time to sort through my own thoughts. 

It was pretty obvious that Geneus' soul was affecting me, so far in subtle ways, but over time it might end up being more. Actually, I wasn't sure I wanted to think about where we might end up. He'd said that while he'd been inside Murata, the latter had had access to all of his memories. Would that happen to me, too? And if I remembered everything he had known, what would that do to me? And yet . . . Murata was clearly a different person than Geneus had been, even though he shared most of his history. My personality, balanced on top of two thousand years' worth of the Great Sage's memory? What would that even feel like? 

There was something disturbing at the edge of my mind, a shiver, a flutter . . . and the train seemed to be swaying more violently. At first it didn't really bother me all that much—actually, I was surprised I had even noticed. Earth tremors are a fact of life in Japan. They'd scared me for the first couple of years after we'd moved back from the States when I was a kid, but now I just took them in stride, the same as everyone else. 

Except that this wasn't just a tremor. Other people were looking up from their newspapers and cell phones with dismayed expressions on their faces, and I could sense (although I couldn't have said how) that the most powerful of the ripples hadn't yet hit us. Between six and seven on the Richter Scale? 

The train bounced on the tracks, and I whispered a curse and reached out my mind to smooth the ground and damp the vibrations immediately underneath us, to keep the track from buckling or the train from derailing. 

It wasn't until the quake had ended and everything had stopped shaking that I realized I had to have been using earth majutsu. Earth had been the Great Sage's natural element, judging from the dream I'd had this morning, but mine was supposed to be water. On the other hand, if maryoku, as Bob kept insisting, came from the soul, and I was now carrying around two of them . . . 

"That was pretty impressive, Shibuya's-big-brother." 

"What are you talking about, friend-of-my-brother?" Just play dumb and, with a little luck, Murata would shut up. 

"Well, if you're starting to be able to use your conjugate elements, your control over your power's improved a lot." Murata gave me that familiar smirk. "You did glow a little while you were doing it, but I think everyone else was too distracted to notice." 

"Um . . . Murata? What's a conjugate element?" I could have hugged Yuuri for asking that question, because I wouldn't have dared pose it myself—I mean, if I was using them, I should presumably know what they were. 

"They're the elements alongside your main one. Or maybe it's more like, they're the elements that aren't the direct opposite of your main one," Murata said with a shrug. "You and Shouri are both water-wielders, so your opposite element would be fire, and your conjugate elements would be earth and wind. Neither of you will ever be quite as good with your conjugates as you are with water, but you should be able to do basic stuff, like damping an earthquake for the area immediately around you, or making breezes. I'm surprised Gunter hasn't taught you all this already." 

Yuuri muttered something too quietly for me to hear. I sighed. "Are you skipping out on your lessons over there, Yuu-chan? You shouldn't be so lazy. There's going to come a time when Gunter and Gwendal and Conrad aren't going to be there to advise you, and you're going to have to be able to get things right on your own." 

My brother gave me a sullen look. "I've done okay so far." 

"You've been lucky," I corrected. "Sooner or later, that isn't going to be enough." 

"Whoa, you two, do we really need to have this fight right now?" Murata asked. "Can't we leave it until _after_ we've bought Mama-san's present?" 

"He started it," Yuuri grumbled, and I didn't even try to argue with that, because technically, he was right. 

The earthquake had made a bit of a mess at the station—there was no damage to the building itself, since it was constructed with earthquake mitigation in mind just like every other modern building in Tokyo, but things had been shaken off various surfaces, and a shelving unit inside one of the store kiosks had collapsed, leaving the place looking as though a whirlwind had been through. A number of people had been knocked off their feet, and one had apparently tumbled down an escalator and broken something, because there was a section of space defined by four security men, with a white-faced young woman sitting on the floor in the middle of it. 

The shopping district outside was in an uproar, but it wasn't . . . how should I put this . . . an unusual kind of uproar. The only damaged building I saw was older and had had mortar crumble away from a corner, dropping a few bricks on the sidewalk. Outside displays that had fallen over were being picked up and returned to their places. Business as usual, in other words. 

I found myself looking around absently as we walked down the street, my gaze lingering on odd things: cars, traffic lights, a display of electronics in a store window, neon signs, a helicopter flying too low overhead, a big screen showing a repetitive advertising loop. It took me a while to notice the pattern. _Geneus? Are you the one looking at all this?_ I sighed as we waited to cross a street, feeling a dull pain somewhere inside me that had grown all too familiar since that night. _I miss you. This would be so much easier if I could talk to you, but I don't see how that could work._

Among the signs on the building on the far corner was one offering meditation training for 2300 yen per hourly session. I snorted, but my eyes lingered on it without my consciously willing them to, and I wondered if Geneus was trying to tell me something. Meditation. I shrugged. It was an idea, at least. 

I hit the Internet when we got home, looking for how-tos and advice. I found the usual assortment of contradictory junk, know-nothing blow-hards passing themselves off as experts, mistargeted advertising, and the odd bit of something useful. I could tell when I hit one of the useful bits because my attention was drawn to it, like a nail to a magnet. Guidance from within. Well, it was better than having to guess for myself which pages had been written by someone who was totally out to lunch. 

So. _Make yourself comfortable_ seemed to be the first step that all the webpages I'd been reading—even some of the flaky ones—agreed on. My desk chair was comfortable enough, but I pushed it back from the desk proper a bit. _Close your eyes_ seemed to be a popular second step, and I did that. 

On the surface, the various sources of advice didn't seem to agree on what the third step was, but if you put everything together and extracted the common factors, you got _find something to concentrate on_. In my particular case, "something" needed to be . . . well, something that would speak to Geneus as well, and forge a connection between us. What did I really have in common with him, though, other than a few quirks of personality and the fact of being Mazoku? Most of the places we'd both visited and the people we both knew might not hold positive memories for him. 

In the end, I tried for something neutral: a sunny hillside, but with the clean air and slightly different quality of light that placed it in Shin Makoku and not on Earth. A pleasant day in early summer, without a cloud in the sky . . . Tentatively, I began to fill in details: a shade tree, flowers scattered among the grasses, chirping crickets, the faint scent of bruised greenery, a horse grazing at the edge of the shade—which didn't feel like it was my idea, but that meant it might be Geneus', so I put all the more effort into visualizing it. I was standing beside the tree, with my hand on the rough bark of the trunk . . . 

"You need not concentrate so hard." 

He was sitting at the base of the tree with an open book in his lap, but he was looking at me, not at it. Smiling gently at me, with the black eyes and unmarked face of the Great Sage, rather than those of the Geneus I remembered . . . but I still felt an unexpected bloom of warmth inside me. I wasn't, I realized suddenly, perceiving my own room anymore at all. The hill and the tree felt very real, and so did his presence, which I had to have been missing even more than I'd thought, because the moment he'd spoken to me, my inner tension had all uncoiled. 

"I figured throwing myself into this wholeheartedly would improve my chances of success," I said, "and I really wanted to talk to you." I hesitated, then added, "This is modeled after a real place, isn't it? Somewhere that . . . meant something to you once. I can feel it." Nostalgia like a warm weight inside my chest, right where his soul had to be . . . 

He nodded. "This is the place where Shin'ou and I first met. One of the places in which my heart lies . . . and a less fraught one than, say, Blood Pledge Castle." 

"You love him a lot, don't you?" I forced myself to use the present tense, to acknowledge the man beside me as alive, even though something about the comment tasted very bitter. 

"I do," came the soft reply. "He was the first person ever to hold out his hand to me unasked, knowing everything I was . . . and not caring." He expression became more serious. "You were the second, Shouri, and I thank you for it from the bottom of my heart." 

The fizzy, warm feeling that overcame me at those words had to have a name, but I had no idea what it was. To hide my confusion, I folded myself down on the ground beside him, sitting cross-legged. I took a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. 

"I keep dreaming your memories," I said at last, because I wanted to approach the subject carefully. 

"I apologize if they are disconcerting," Geneus said. "I have been trying to give you what you would find useful, but the dreams are regrettably involuntary." 

"The memories themselves don't bother me," I said. _Well, except in the hot-and-bothered sense._ "The implications do, though. If this goes on, are you still going to exist as a separate person? Or are you going to . . . merge into me somehow? Because that isn't what I want. I was trying to save you, not make you disappear." 

"I do not know," Geneus admitted. "There is no precedent in all of my memories for the long-term presence of two souls in one body. However, if that is what does happen, I will be content, since the person I will be joined with is someone I value." His smile was wry, warm . . . heart-wrenching. It made me ache inside for reasons I couldn't fully articulate. 

" _I_ won't be, though," I said. _If you end up stuck inside me instead of beside me, I think I'm going to miss you for the rest of my life._ "Isn't there a way we can get you a body of your own?" 

"There is only one way to make a body capable of serving as a permanent housing for a soul, and that is the same way that you acquired yours. Rarely, a soul will be ejected before the body dies, but the body itself never lives long afterwards. Soul bottles—and their modifications, like Shin'ou's temple—are rather limited containers, and a soul invested in an ordinary object will eventually degrade and lose its way. That has already happened to me once, and I have no wish to suffer it again. Lacking a concerned Maoh to come to the rescue, I might have become something which horrifies me." 

Oh, _Shin'ou_ , how I wanted to hug him just then, to comfort him and soothe away that particular memory of darkness, but I wasn't sure that he would welcome that kind of reassurance. Instead, I reached for his hand and interlaced our fingers. After a moment's surprise, he returned my grip with a firm squeeze of his own. 

"There has to be a way," I said stubbornly. "And I'm going to find it. In the meanwhile, do . . . whatever it is you were doing to keep from fading into Murata, okay?" 

"Ironically, I believe the reason he and I did not join is that we had too much in common," Geneus said. "My skills and knowledge were of no value to him, even if I had wanted to offer them to him." 

"I appreciate what you've already given me more than I can say," I said. "But I'd appreciate having you beside me a lot more. I want you to have the chance to live at peace in Shin Makoku and to explore how Earth has changed during the years you were . . . away. After everything you've been through, you deserve it." 

"There are those who might say otherwise." 

"No one holds any grudges for what you did while you were under Alazon's control," I said . . . although I hadn't actually polled the inhabitants of Shin Makoku on the subject. Still, Geneus _was_ the Great Sage, sort of, so hopefully they would cut him some slack. "Yuuri would welcome you, I know." 

A wry smile. "Your brother is an odd young man, although I doubt he would agree with me if I said that to his face. Most youths at his stage of development are far more self-serving . . . but then, he is a pure soul. As our plan required." The shadow of a memory crossed his face, and I gently squeezed his hand again to draw his attention away from it. I was surprised, just a little, by how warm his fingers were. When I'd touched his other body, it had always been ice-cold. 

"That's over and done with now," I said. "The Originator is gone forever, and Shin'ou's soul is safe. Even if you personally weren't present, you still won that fight." 

Geneus turned to face me more fully. "Shouri, you need not put such effort into reassuring me." 

I locked my eyes with his. "What if I want to?" I said softly. Trying to articulate the warmth I felt inside whenever I thought of doing something to help him. 

His hand, the one I wasn't holding, rose slowly to cup my jaw. I didn't drop my eyes from his as he ran the pad of his thumb over my lower lip. 

"I should know by now that all Maohs are impossible," he whispered as he leaned forward. 

It was even more intense than the kiss he'd given me while he'd been occupying Murata's body, hot and wet and with his tongue exploring my mouth, running over my teeth and my palate as though to memorize their shape. It gave me a hard-on to rival the one from this morning, and an answer. 

_Oh._

_Of course._

_I'm falling in love with him._

It should, I reflected, have bothered me more. I'd always thought I only liked girls, but maybe Geneus' soul had already subtly deformed mine to change that. And he was already in love with someone else . . . but then why had he kissed me? 

"Some things are simply not meant to be," he said softly as we parted. I could feel tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. "Now, it is not wise for you to spend too much time in here, especially not at your level of training. You need to return to the outside. I will still be here . . . another time." 

I nodded, and forced words past the lump in my throat. "Please, try to hold yourself together." I didn't wait for an answer, but instead closed my eyes and visualized, as best I could, my bedroom. 

I nearly pitched out of my chair as the world reformed around me, because the balance requirements were so different. I had clearly been in my inner world for longer than I'd thought, because the sun was going down outside. I was probably lucky that no one had come up to look for me and found me passed out in my chair. 

_So what in hell do I do now?_ I wondered, staring at the blank screen of my computer, which had long since gone into power-saving mode. Geneus had closed off most of the possible avenues for getting him a body of his own with a handful of words. I could try haunting hospital emergency rooms in the hope that someone would bring in a soulless but otherwise intact body, but I would have to be very lucky to find one before Geneus faded into me, if that was in fact what he was doing. Displacing someone else's soul was out of the question. I needed an unborn child that hadn't quite yet reached the point of acquiring a soul of its own—ideally, one whose mother didn't want it. And that wasn't something I could find on my own. I needed help. 

I sorted through options in my head. This was way, _way_ outside of Bob's usual territory, and I wasn't sure he'd be able to help even if I did ask. I doubted Murata would be interested, since he hadn't done anything about fixing things himself even though he'd been carrying Geneus' soul around inside him for a year. I didn't want to involve Yuuri, and even if I did, I gave him a fifty percent chance of flaking out and either going into adolescent _ew pregnancy gross_ mode or giving me a half-assed lecture about not stealing other people's children when I told him what I wanted. 

That pretty much exhausted the list of useful people on Earth. I might have better luck on the other side, especially if I claimed it was a favour for the Great Sage (as it sort of was), but getting there was a problem. Yuuri wouldn't be going until Mom's birthday was over, and possibly not for several days after that. 

I was just going to have to grit my teeth and wait it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the things I noticed on my third or fourth viewing of KKM is that we never see Yuuri use fire majutsu. Water, frequently. Earth on the trip to Svelera, wind while facing off with Stoffel in episode 11 (and a few other times thereafter when there's no water source handy), and, well, I'm not sure what the garbage monster in "Sailors and a Spoiled Brat" corresponds to element-wise, but it doesn't seem likely to be fire-based either. Of such things are fan-theories born . . .
> 
> By the way, does anyone remember what Flynn's butler's name is, if he's ever given one? I'm in the middle of a scene in the other 'fic in which he's sufficiently prominent that I have to call him something, and I don't want to assign him an arbitrary name if he already has one.


	7. Chapter 7

I was looking forward to sleeping in a bed after nearly two years of tents . . . until I opened the door to the room on the third floor of the keep and discovered that it was already occupied by a certain blonde, sprawled naked across a chair in front of the fire with a wineglass in his hand. 

"You are fortunate that no one else had an errand in here," I said with fond exasperation. "If any of Lord Karbelnikoff's servants had come in and seen _that_ pointing at them, it would have taken me several hours to convince them that you meant no harm." 

He smirked and cupped his genitals in his free hand. "Oh, come now—even in such a remote area, they must have seen the results of wachsenar before." His fingers slowly stroked the length of his manhood. 

"It happens to be illegal here." 

"Really?" 

"Were you not aware?" 

"No, actually, I wasn't. And I'm puzzled about the rationale." 

I forced back a sigh. "Lost in the depths of time. I suspect either an obsolete religious reason, or a previous lord with little power and modest endowments." 

He laughed. "So do you think they're going to arrest us?" 

"Not unless you make a point of drawing their attention to it." There was another chair arranged not far from his, with the wine bottle and another glass on a small table between the two, and I gave in and took the seat and the drink prepared for me. I was not surprised to find that the wine was excellent—he was a good judge of such things, despite being an oversexed fool. 

"You have too many clothes on," he said now, and I did allow myself to sigh this time . . . but I also set my wine aside, and stripped off not just my tunic, but the shirt underneath. The room really was quite warm—he'd built up the fire substantially, in a way that only a Mazoku sealed to that element could. 

"Better?" 

"It's a start." 

"Are you ever satisfied?" 

"Mmm . . . Occasionally, after we make love." He stretched out a bare leg so that he could touch with his toes a shallow tray resting by the hearthside. That tray, which I hadn't noticed before, was full of oil, in which rested several blunt-tipped cylindrical objects of varying length and girth. I swallowed, staring at them with disturbed fascination as I realized what they were and why he was being so forward. 

"Saïré." My head whipped up as he spoke my name. "We don't have to if you don't want to—I'd be perfectly happy to have you top me again—but I doubt there's ever going to be a better time. We have a proper room with solid walls, and a bed, and we're not going to be interrupted by a sudden enemy attack. And we'll go as slowly as you need to, I promise." His hand cupped around his manhood again, and he smiled crookedly. "You know, this is the first time I've ever regretted not leaving this at its natural size—if I were smaller, we wouldn't need to stretch you so extensively." 

I took a deep, slow breath. The reasons I feared the act he was proposing were, I told myself sternly, not applicable in this case. This was not some stranger bent on demonstrating his power over me, but a man who had shown me only kindness, loyalty . . . and love. A man who had demonstrated repeatedly that he kept his promises. And one to whom I wanted to return all the love and warmth and pleasure he had given me—tenfold, if I could. 

I drained my glass as a substitute for courage, although truly, it was too good a vintage to be used so, and rose to my feet. I toed off my boots and my socks, unhooked my knife from my belt and laid it on the table beside the wine bottle, then unfastened my trousers and pushed them down. The brief garment I wore underneath was straining at the seams—my own attempt at wachsenar was only a few months past, and I was still sometimes shocked at the results, although I knew my partner appreciated them . . . was appreciating them now, watching me over the edge of his wineglass, as I removed my final item of clothing and turned to face him. While my mind might have its doubts about what we were about to do, my body was clearly more than happy to go along with it, my manhood as engorged as his, rising from between my thighs. 

He set his wineglass aside and rose smoothly to his feet. "You truly are beautiful, you know," he said as his hands began to trace the muscles of my chest. 

"You only say that because you have no taste," I replied. My hands found shoulders, collarbones . . . nipples, which I tweaked sharply, eliciting a gasp and a chuckle from him. He drew me closer then, sliding his finger between my buttocks and teasing at the opening there, while I sought and found his mouth. It tasted of the wine we had both been drinking, and of the flavour that was unique to him . . . or so I believed, although I had had no other lover during the part of my life that I remembered. 

He broke the kiss and slid around behind me, rubbing his manhood against my buttocks as he traced the scars on my shoulders with fingers and tongue. I tossed my head and bowed forward slightly, baring the nape of my neck, and he obliged me by covering it with kisses. 

"This will be easier if you bend over," he told me, and I let him guide me into position against one of the chairs, my hands braced against the seat and my rump outthrust and vulnerable. 

He breached me first with a well-oiled finger, stroking the small of my back with his free hand all the while in apology. Truth be told, it was not nearly so bad as I had feared: odd, and somewhat uncomfortable, but I was not in pain. And then he crooked that finger, and I cried out—I knew, of course, of the gland inside a man's body that was positioned so that it might be stimulated in such a way, but I had not imagined that the pleasure of having it stroked would be so intense. 

"And now you understand why I want you to experience this," he said, and planted a kiss at the base of my spine. "While the world's still here, I want to show you all the good things it has to offer. You deserve them, my Dark One." And then softer, the words mere warm breath against my skin, "I love you." 

_You are the only one I have ever loved._ The words stuck in my throat as they always did, but he seemed to understand them nevertheless. 

My body accepted the first toy, not so much longer and thicker than his finger, without difficulty or more discomfort than a slight ache, and after spreading a linen towel on my chair to prevent residual oil from ending up where it was not wanted, we sat down again and poured more wine and began an utterly irrelevant argument about Calorian literature. I had been surprised when I had first discovered just how well-read he was, especially in the area of lyric poetry, but I now took it for granted that he would at least have heard of all the works I quoted. 

And when my lower body started to involuntarily move in short, sharp thrusts, he smiled at my embarrassment and suggested that we exchange the current toy for the next size up. 

There were eight of them, all neatly graduated, and by the time my body had accepted the last one, which was so thick that when he curled his hand around it his thumb and forefinger did not touch, my erection was leaking at the tip, drawing wet lines on my thighs. When he suggested that we move to the bed, I agreed immediately, falling back to lie underneath him. 

He touched me gently, as he knew I preferred, and I touched him more forcefully, as I knew _he_ preferred. As usual, he was unable to restrain himself from leaving a series of marks down the side of my neck and along my collarbone. In the morning, I would heal the ones that showed above the collar of my shirt, but for now I left them. 

He dipped his head to mouth a nipple and I ran my fingers through his hair, fine and clinging, as his hand delved between my legs, gently stroking my sac and tracing the distended edges of the stretched opening behind it. The sensation made me gasp, and I pushed on his shoulder, reversing our positions so that I was on top. I kissed my way down his body, not slowly, but forcing myself to give no evidence of haste, and found my way to his erection. I took the flared tip of his manhood in my mouth and began to suckle gently while curling my hands around the shaft. He groaned and clawed at the bedding as I used my tongue to probe the moisture-beaded slit at the tip, tasting bitter salt and him. 

"If you . . . keep on doing that . . . I'm not going to be . . . much good to you," he said, panting. 

I assessed my inward sensations, flexing my hips. "I am ready for you, I think." 

"Oh," he said softly, the syllable holding a hint of wonder. "Well, then . . . roll over onto your side." 

I frowned. "That is not how we usually . . ." 

He chuckled. "I take it that your reading hasn't thus far encompassed many Letrulian pillow books. It isn't my favourite position, but I don't think you'd be comfortable with me pinning you down, and asking you to take the lead your first time seems a bit much." 

Silently, I rolled off him, positioning myself on my side with my back to him. He curled himself around me, chest to back, kissing the nape of my neck again as he gently pulled the toy out, leaving my body uncomfortably empty. So strange, that feeling of wanting to be filled . . . like nothing I had ever experienced before. So strange and so strong that, when I felt the tip of his manhood settle into place between my buttocks, I almost pushed myself back onto it. 

He reached forward and laced our fingers together, then guided our conjoined hands down to my erection as he began to thrust forward. Even though I was well-oiled and well-stretched, there was still an ache as my body adjusted to him . . . or at least there was until the tip of his manhood rubbed me just so, sending pleasure arching along my spine. After that, there was nothing in my world but the act of moving in unison with him, both of us crying out as flesh rubbed deliciously against flesh. 

After a few minutes his stroking hand began to move faster, squeezing my manhood gently, circling the tip with his thumb, then sliding lower to rub my sac, while I clung to my own flesh as though it were the sole point of reality in a world of dreams. I could feel my climax coming, and I was not going to fight it. 

However, he was the one who groaned as I spilled myself into his hand. My muscles clamped down on him of their own accord, and I felt him twitch, swell, and spend himself into my body, crying out my name in a choked voice. 

Afterwards, we lay there for several moments, still fitted together and breathing heavily, before he found his voice. "So? Was that so bad?" 

"You know that it was not," I said as he withdrew from me, leaving behind the wet warmth of his seed. "Although the aftermath seems to be rather more uncomfortable than the act itself, even though you took such care," I added, feeling a renewed ache from muscles that were trying to recover from being stretched unnaturally wide. 

"Your body will adapt, over time," he said. "But I'll admit that a little healing is often useful, afterwards." I could already feel the warmth of his power diffusing through my skin. I added my own, and the abused potions of my body relaxed by degrees. The comfort, the warmth of the fire in the hearth and of his body, and the aftermath of exertion were tugging me gently down toward sleep. It was not a slide I was inclined to prevent . . . 

. . . and I woke with an echo of pleasure radiating not just from my cock, but from my ass, and lay there trying to collect my thoughts. Okay, so I'd gotten turned on by dreaming the Sage's memory of butt-sex. With Shin'ou. And I . . . wasn't embarrassed. But I was uncomfortable about not being embarrassed, because I knew that a year ago, I would have been. Something inside me, something important, had shifted without me even realizing it, and that was more than a little frightening. 

What other parts of Shouri Shibuya were being silently, invisibly sanded away and replaced with bits of the Great Sage as I lay there and stared at the ceiling? I didn't know. I couldn't tell. And it popped into my head that several of his incarnations that hadn't recovered the memory of what they were until they were adults had been driven insane when their past-life selves had started crowding out bits of who they currently were. 

I took a deep breath. I wasn't, I told myself sternly, going to go crazy over this. I _knew_ what was happening to me, which gave me an advantage over those half-remembered phantoms. And Geneus and I were quite similar people, overall. The core of me wasn't going to be damaged by this, and if a few things around the edges of my self got rearranged . . . well, that happened even to normal people over the course of their lives. I was just going about it a bit differently. 

Right? 

_A few more days,_ I reminded myself. _I just need to handle it for a few more days._ Yuuri had some kind of test coming up at school the day after tomorrow. After that, I'd make him take me along on his next trip to Shin Makoku. Somehow. 

I wriggled around trying to get comfortable so that I could go back to sleep, and grimaced as I felt the sticky wad in my undershorts. _Oh, hell, better fix that first._

I padded down the hall to the bathroom, closed the door, turned on the light, and began the usual clean-up sequence, wiping myself off and then reaching for the sink to rinse away the last hint of what had happened. I turned the water on . . . and froze in place. There was something almost hypnotic about the flow. It . . . carried . . . from one world to the next . . . Something clicked into place inside my head, and suddenly, I understood the nature of the link between the two worlds, and how to make use of it. 

I didn't need Yuuri's help. I could get to Shin Makoku on my own. 

I took a deep breath, repressed the impulse to run water into the bathtub and jump in, and methodically finished my clean-up. Heading off for Shin Makoku dressed in nothing but my tighty-whities and an advertising T-shirt that I'd had foisted off on me after some event on campus wasn't smart. I could certainly go tonight, and with a little luck have everything dealt with by the time morning rolled around, but I needed to prepare a little better first. 

First, I went back to my room, dressed properly, and pocketed a handful of small change from Shin Makoku that was left over from my previous trip. Then I fumbled my way downstairs in the dark. Mom kept the expensive, top-quality, you-can-carry-soup-around-in-this self-sealing plastic bags she'd bought for Yuuri to haul gifts back and forth between worlds in the kitchen, and I was going to take advantage of them: shoes and a towel in one, dry change of clothes in another. Last, but not least, I wrote a brief note to leave in the bathroom just in case I didn't make it back before everyone woke up: _Gone to Shin Makoku. Back soon. —Shouri._ I put it on the counter and weighted it down with my watch (which didn't keep proper time in the other world, so there was no point in bringing it—the length of the day seemed to be different by about ten minutes, and the error accumulated fast). _Then_ I ran water into the bathtub, just enough of it to fully cover the bottom, stepped inside, and closed my eyes. 

Carefully, I pictured the octagonal basin at the center of the courtyard at Shin'ou's Temple, with its clear water and the lily pads floating on the surface. Holding that in my mind, I reached out with my power along an axis that seemed to be at right angles to normal space somehow. I knew I'd done it right when the whirlpool sucked me down. 

It was weird, but the watery passage between worlds was always warm, even if the endpoints were cold. Quickly, I checked to make sure the packages I'd stuffed inside my shirt were still where they belonged, and turned in the water so that I could swim with the current instead of just being carried along by it—that was a good way to run out of air before I reached my destination, I'd discovered during previous trips. I propelled myself along as hard as I could until I breached the surface of the water into disorienting daylight. 

I wiped the water-weed off my head with a grimace and stepped out of the fountain. There didn't seem to be anyone around, so I unsealed my bags, dried my glasses and my hair, and headed for the shadow of a small open room that I knew was hidden at the corner of the pseudo-Roman colonnade that ran around three sides of the courtyard—I wasn't going to change my clothes in the open when I knew one of the priestesses might interrupt me at any moment. It was a good thing it wasn't far, though, since I was starting to get cold. 

I guess it's one of those inevitable things in life that someone came along anyway, and at the worst possible moment: while I was stripped to the buff, with the towel wrapped around my hips, reaching for fresh underwear. 

"Shouri-dono?" 

Somehow I kept from jumping out of my skin at the sound of her voice. I even managed to turn around slowly . . . feeling really grateful for the towel, I admit. "Ulrike. Good. As soon as I'm dressed, I need to talk to you and Shin'ou. I've got a problem, a really weird one, that I'm hoping you can help me with." 

A hand, too large to be Ulrike's, came to rest on my shoulder, and fingers began to trace the length of my spine. "Why get dressed?" a warm baritone murmured in my ear. "I'm quite enjoying the view." 

"Four thousand years and you are still a perverted fool ready to jump anything with black hair," I said sharply, ignoring the warm quiver his voice caused in the pit of my stomach . . . and realized belatedly that my diction had changed. Behind me, Shin'ou drew in a startled breath, and I felt his maryoku slide lightly over me, searching and testing. I forced myself to sound like Shouri Shibuya as I turned to face him and said, "I promise I'll explain. _When I'm dressed._ And aren't you wasting a lot of power, keeping yourself full-sized and solid?" 

"Some, but I've also gotten quite a bit of power back—you may not realize it, but it's been more than six years on this side since the last time we met," Shin'ou said . . . and there it was again, that little warm feeling. Suddenly, dream-memories of the taste of this man's mouth and the sound of his voice as he cried out in passion and the feel of his body and his cock as we made love were all crowding around me, awakening an aching wave of lust. 

I wanted to have sex with a four-thousand-year-old god-ghost, and the towel around my waist wasn't doing a hell of a lot to hide my interest. Ulrike was looking politely away, but Shin'ou himself was staring. And smirking. I scowled at him. 

" _Out,_ " I said. "Or I'm keeping you in suspense until tomorrow!" 

"Your Majesty, I think this will go more quickly if we leave Shouri-dono to dress in private," Ulrike said in her little-girl voice. 

Shin'ou sighed. "Oh, very well. We'll be waiting for you inside." 

"Thanks," I muttered. 

Even after he was gone, though, it took a while to pack myself into my pants. My erection just didn't want to deflate. It was a good thing, I reflected, that I hadn't known until half an hour ago that it was possible to do effective penis enlargement with majutsu—what was the word they'd used in the dream, _wachsenar_?—because if I had, I might have been dumb enough to try it at some point. Might _still_ be dumb enough to try it, I admitted to myself. I'd _liked_ how it felt to be that big, the sensation of it hanging between my legs or rubbing up against my partner's skin— 

_Damn you, Murata._ My brother's idiot friend had said on several occasions that remembering a past life was like watching a movie, but what kind of movie came with a full range of tactile sensation? How in hell could he keep from drowning in the past? 

Unfortunately, wondering about that wasn't going to get my pants on any faster. I finished dressing and arranged my wet clothes on a bench to dry, leaving the bags beside them. Then I went inside. 

There was only one place where Ulrike and Shin'ou were likely to be waiting for me, and it was easy to find, right at the end of the main hallway. The guards flanking the doorway nodded to me as I approached, and one of them swung the left door open. I nodded back to them as I stepped across the threshold. 

The temple's inner sanctum hadn't changed a lot since my last visit. Still the same odd, muted lighting. Still the same three empty wooden boxes at the front. Ulrike still the same, right down to her gown and hairstyle. The only difference was that the Shin'ou standing at the far end waiting for me was full-sized this time. 

"So," he said as soon as I was close enough for a comfortable conversation, "what sort of odd problem was so urgent that you felt you had to learn to move from world to world in order to address it, Shouri Shibuya?" 

Deep breath, right. "Well, it's like this . . ."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more minor consent warning (body piercing, not actual sex).

" . . . and I thought you might be able to help me find or create a vacant body, because they're in pretty short supply back on Earth, and I'm not sure how long I can afford to wait if we're going to get him out of me without damaging either of us," I finished. 

Shin'ou had both eyebrows raised and was stroking his chin. Ulrike was frowning. 

"Well, now," the dead king said after the silence had gone on just long enough to be uncomfortable. "In theory, I could just turn someone's soul out of their body—I might even get some idiotically pious volunteers—but I don't think that's the right way to go about this, even if we all believed it was . . . a moral thing to do. And that pretty much only leaves one option." 

"Finding a body that doesn't have a soul yet," I said. 

"Mmm. Well, I was thinking more about . . . making one to order." 

I frowned. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant, but . . . "Wouldn't it take several months for a newly-conceived fetus to be able to support a soul? I told you, I don't think we have that kind of time." 

"You can use healing majutsu to speed things up," Shin'ou explained. "By fifty times or more over the speed of a human pregnancy, if the parent is in good health and there's enough maryoku available. Which there is," he said with a smirk . . . but it shaded back into seriousness almost immediately. "There's another wrinkle, though." 

I was still trying to do calculations in my head— _eight-and-a-half months . . . call it two hundred and fifty days, sped up fifty times . . . about five days?_ —so it took me a moment to latch on to that. "What kind of 'wrinkle'?" 

"His soul and yours are twined around each other," Shin'ou said. "I noticed it earlier, although I wasn't aware at the time what it was I was sensing. Teasing you apart is going to take nearly the full term of the pregnancy, if it's accelerated—and I think you're right that it's going to have to be if we don't want things to get even worse. Keeping you in constant skin contact with the mother for four or five days isn't practical. And that leaves only one other choice." 

Call me slow if you like, but it took me several seconds to get it. I guess Murata's teasing of Yuuri on that bus ride three days ago hadn't made enough of an impression on my subconscious. "You're saying that the easiest way to pull this off is for _me_ to . . ." 

"Exactly," Shin'ou said, taking pity on me when I just couldn't force the rest of the words out. "Five days, and, if it helps, you'd sleep through most of it—you won't be able to stay conscious for more than an hour or so at a time while your body is dealing with the stress of the acceleration on top of an unnatural pregnancy. You'd need a couple of days to recover afterwards, but there wouldn't be any permanent physical effects." 

I licked my lips. "What about the time lapse on Earth?" _I can't believe that I'm seriously considering this._

"Six or seven hours, total. For everything." 

So I'd be getting home around breakfast time, and my family would never know about any of this. I took a deep breath. 

"Fine. I'll do it." 

Really, what else could I have said? I was the one who wanted to get Geneus' soul out of me and into a body of his own—how could I ask some woman who had never met him and might even have suffered because of the things Alazon had made him do to do the hard part of this? Like bumping someone else's soul out of its body, it just wouldn't have been right. 

"Then all we need is Geneus' permission," Shin'ou said. "Which means we need somewhere for you to lie down. Ulrike, we'll be using the easternmost guest room on the second floor—it's closest to the infirmary, just in case." 

"Now wait a minute—" 

"Given the strain on your body, you will need to be monitored by our healer, Shouri-dono," Ulrike said. "I promise that I will tell her to keep the matter secret. The information will never be permitted to spread outside the temple." 

I grimaced—was I really that obviously embarrassed? "I guess I don't have much of a choice." 

I followed Shin'ou through the temple and up a flight of stairs. The guestroom was a surprise, I had to admit. I'd been expecting something spartan and monastic, not a thick carpet into which my shoes tried to disappear or a queen-sized featherbed with an ornate, embroidered coverlet. It also had a small desk covered with intricate carving up against one wall, a small shelving unit holding an assortment of books and little ornaments, and a large window overlooking the inner courtyard. 

"Lie down," my guide said firmly. "I'm going to put you into a trance state." 

"I figured," I said as I arranged myself on my back on the bed. "It's the only way you can talk to him right now, isn't it?" 

"Without his direct assistance, anyway," Shin'ou said. He sat down on the edge of the bed . . . and then dwindled down to the pocket-sized version of himself, sitting beside my pillow. "Ready?" His voice sounded wrong to me, coming from that tiny body. 

I swallowed. "Yeah." 

I closed my eyes, and the world shifted. I was in another bedroom, vaguely familiar, lying in another bed. Shin'ou, full-sized, was sitting beside me, and someone else was standing by the window. He wore a long blue tunic, and his black hair hung loose about his shoulders. _Beautiful,_ I thought, and swallowed, trying to lubricate a throat that had gone dry with nervousness. Although I wasn't quite sure which I was more nervous about: the thought that he might refuse my offer, or the way my cock was starting to create a bulge in my pants again. 

_I love you_ is a scary thing to think, especially when you're not sure whether the other person loves you back. 

"Saïré," Shin'ou greeted him softly. 

He turned slowly to face the bed, and I wasn't at all surprised to see the Great Sage's unmarked face. "Magnus. Shouri. Why are you . . . ?" 

"We have an idea," I said. "Of how we can fix this." I gestured from him to me to indicate what _this_ was. 

"After all, you just need a body," Shin'ou said cheerfully. "And Shouri has volunteered to provide one." 

The room was silent as Geneus absorbed that. "You . . ." he said slowly. 

"I said I would find a way," I said. "If that means me getting pregnant to produce a body for you . . . well, then, that's what I'll do." 

Another long pause. "Did he put you up to this?" Geneus nodded at Shin'ou. 

"It was my decision," I said firmly. "It should only take a few days, and I'm willing to give up that much of my life for your sake." 

"Shouri . . ." 

"You know, if you turn me down, I'm going to be pretty ticked off," I said, looking him in the eye. 

This time, the pause was shorter. "Then you have my gratitude . . . although I am not certain that you understand the risk you are taking." 

"He's going to be monitored constantly," Shin'ou said. "He'd be in more danger crossing the street, back in his own world." 

I shrugged. "I'd have to be an idiot not to be aware there was some risk. Pregnancy isn't perfectly safe even for a woman who's doing it at the normal speed, and this . . . won't be anything like that. I just hope I don't end up with stretch marks," I said, trying to sound disgusted. I must have succeeded to some extent, because Shin'ou chuckled. 

"I think we can avoid that." 

"And who is going to be the other father, or have the two of you not taken that point into consideration?" 

"I was kind of hoping self-fertilization would be an option," I muttered, flushing. The idea of having sex with an unknown man was worse than the thought of having it with Anissina . . . and worse than that, what if they wanted to use someone I _did_ know? Gunter, maybe? He had a good brain when he wasn't acting crazy, and his build and facial structure were a bit like the Great Sage's, but . . . _Arrgh, I'd never be able to look him in the eye again!_

"We won't need another father," Shin'ou said firmly. "There's still one surviving copy of your original life-pattern—your 'genetic code', if you prefer Earth terminology. I took a lock of your hair to the grave with me, remember? And it was enspelled for preservation. It's still there, with my dust, directly beneath the temple. I don't just want you to have _a_ body, Saïré, I want you to have _your_ body, if it's at all possible. Which it is." 

Geneus shivered. "That is the second time you have called me by that name, and you keep on implying—" 

"I've been calling you that because it _is_ your name," Shin'ou said. "I can't believe you prefer to think of yourself as some sort of . . . of houjutsu automaton. Not you. Especially when, given the option of taking on any form that you please in this illusion, the one you choose is the one I remember." 

"It has nothing to do with what I would prefer, but a great deal to do with what I am permitted," came the soft reply. 

"Because of Murata? He isn't my Sage. Not anymore. It's taken me a while to understand just how much he's changed. How much he's chosen to change. He can't fill the empty place in my heart." 

They stared at each other for some time, but it wasn't . . . wasn't an empty silence, I guess you could say. They were communicating something to each other, in eye-blinks and subtle facial expressions, a private language that I had the frustrating feeling I was right on the edge of understanding. Somehow, that was worse than being completely excluded. 

Then Geneus smiled, inclined his head, and came over to sit on the bed with us. His left hand found and tangled with my right, while his right reached for Shin'ou's left. 

"You are two of the best men I have ever known, and I deserve neither of you," he said warmly, and I felt a flutter inside my chest. 

"Love isn't about deserving," I said, and then wanted to bite my tongue out as two sets of eyes turned to me. 

"No, it isn't," Shin'ou agreed easily. "If it were, I would probably have spent my life alone." 

"Or at least a night chained to a tent pole," I muttered. 

The blonde man gave me a surprised look, then chuckled, a warm, rich sound. 

"The first of many lunatic escapades on his part," Geneus murmured . . . but his eyes were sparkling with laughter. 

"What makes you think that was the first?" Shin'ou asked with a crooked grin. "I did my share of stupid things during my adolescence, before the two of us met." 

" _Just_ your share?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Mmh . . . Well, maybe a share and a half. My oldest sister was very proper most of the time, you see, so I had to make up for her." Unexpectedly, he reached for my right hand, leaving the three of us linked in an awkward triangle. We were right on the edge of something—I could feel it. "You know, Shouri, it occurs to me that it's hardly fair for you to end up pregnant without getting to have at least a little of the fun that normally precedes that." 

My eyes widened. Did he actually mean . . . ? _No,_ I told myself. _Don't hope. It'll hurt too much when it turns out you're wrong._

"Let us make love to you," the golden god said with smiling mouth and serious eyes, and my heart and my cock both jumped. 

"We will not force you," the dark Sage said, his thumb tracing a pattern on the back of my hand. "But I, for one, would like very much to be with you." 

I could feel my mouth working, but I couldn't scrape any actual words together. My brain seemed to have fled south. One syllable at a time, I managed to fit together, "And I want you both." Which was the truth—just thinking about it made me feel like I was going to burst out of my pants. 

Shin'ou smirked, and suddenly we were all naked. 

"What's the point of making love in a dream if you can't take advantage of the fact that it _is_ a dream?" the blonde man asked when we both looked at him. He was just as I remembered from those _other_ dreams: tanned skin interrupted by a scar or three (and a bikini thong line), firm muscles, and a gigantic cock resting on a bed of curls whose colour almost matched the gold ring threaded through the tip. He had pierced nipples, too—I guess that either they'd been a late addition, or I hadn't noticed them because he'd spent most of the dream with the silk ropes and the candlewax face-down. 

"Perhaps we were looking forward to unwrapping our gifts," Geneus said. I had never really gotten a look at him naked before, so I allowed myself to stare. Uniformly pale skin, a slender torso with unexpectedly well-defined musculature, long limbs and sharp black eyes. No piercings, but his huge erection was flushed with the delicate colour of sakura blossoms. 

Both beautiful in their own individual ways. And both looking at me. I blushed, unpleasantly aware of all my shortcomings: the glasses, the relative lack of muscle definition in my chest and abdomen, and my distinctly average-sized penis. 

Shin'ou flashed that smirk again, and turned to Geneus. "He has potential, don't you think?" 

"On the contrary, I think he is already an impressively developed specimen, especially when one considers his youth." 

They both tugged on my arms, and I found myself drawn up into a sitting position. Geneus then released his grip, both on me and on Shin'ou, and touched my face, turning me slightly towards him and leaning in to fasten his mouth on mine. Meanwhile, Shin'ou was kissing his way up the arm of the hand he still held. 

I wasn't sure whose hand was stroking my spine as Shin'ou reached my shoulder and began to work his way down my chest. And I don't know how long Geneus and I kissed—you don't get short of breath in dreams. The warmth and the taste of him and the feeling of his tongue working against mine and his hair tickling my shoulders . . . all the sensations felt so _right_. And then Shin'ou's mouth found my nipple, and the sudden surge of pleasure made me yelp and twitch and bang our teeth together. Fortunately, Geneus seemed to find that amusing, although he did end the kiss, in favour of licking and nuzzling at my neck. 

The two of them adjusted our positions so smoothly that I didn't notice we had moved until I felt Shin'ou lifting my hips and realized that I was sitting between Geneus's legs, leaning against his shoulder as he nibbled on my neck and traced patterns on my chest and stomach. Then Shin'ou was bending down, and I groaned as he licked the underside of my cock. 

He looked up at me with a smirk and an unspoken question. "Please," I whispered. Normally begging makes me uncomfortable, but in that time and place, it felt right. 

_Hot_ and _wet_ enveloped the head of my cock and started to work their way down the shaft, and I dug my fingers into the bedding to keep from jerking in a way that would make one of us end up with bruises. "Please," I muttered again. "Pleasepleasepleaseplease . . ." It became a meaningless stream of sound, and Geneus had his arms around my body, and I could feel my balls getting full and heavy and drawing up as I was guided toward my inevitable climax . . . and then Shin'ou raised his head, backing off and letting my erection slide out of his mouth, and I groaned in disappointment. _Bastard._

"Patience," Geneus murmured in my ear. "I promise we will not leave you unsatisfied." He made a shallow thrusting motion with his hips, and his cock rubbed along the crack in my ass, making me flash back to that other dream and the sensation of being taken and filled by a lover. Oh, _spirits_ , I wanted that, wanted it so intensely that it frightened me. 

Somewhere in the middle of fantasizing about it, I felt a pinch and a short, sharp pain like a pin-prick just behind my balls, but it went away almost immediately as Shin'ou's tongue slid over me there. 

Then he looked up at me, and there was that devilish smirk again. "I don't normally do this in the real world," he said, "but since this is a dream . . ." Then he ducked down again, lifting me higher and urging me to spread my legs even more. I submitted to his guidance, and groaned softly as I felt his tongue trace the edge of my hole. Then it stabbed inside, and I gasped. It wasn't anything like my memory of his finger—it was flexible and squirming and _hot_ . . . and maybe it was a good thing it was nowhere near my prostate, because if it had been able to reach, I probably would have come hard enough to put Shin'ou's eye out. And through it all, Geneus' cock rubbed against my back and my ass in slow, controlled motions . . . but when I put my hand over his, it was clenched into a white-knuckled fist. Clearly, he was fighting for control just as hard as I was. 

Shin'ou raised his head again, and his hands tugged at my hips. "Lean forward a bit, Shouri . . . yes, like that. Exactly like that." He reached around behind me for a moment, and I felt the blunt tip of a cock prodding at me. "And now, back down again." 

Eagerly, I began to lower myself, and gasped as Geneus' cock slid into my body. He hissed as I enveloped him, and bit my shoulder, making me yelp. Then I was sitting in his lap, stretched, impossibly full . . . and loving it. Loving _them_ , the two crazy, beautiful men who were doing this to me. 

I moaned as Shin'ou's mouth found my cock and began to suck, and again as Geneus made his first short thrust up into my body, sending a wave of pleasure through me. "Love you," I whispered, and heard him gasp as his fingers dug into my thigh. I sank my hands into Shin'ou's hair, and it felt fine and slightly wavy, just as I remembered. My fingers worked, kneading it like a cat's paws, clenching tight with each thrust I rode. Geneus latched on to my earlobe and began to suck at it almost frantically as the thrusts started to become quicker. There wasn't time now for the last wave of pleasure to fade before the next crashed over me, as I hung in a space that contained only the three of us. Shin'ou was somehow managing to lick my balls even with my cock stuck down his throat, and I could feel them swelling . . . tightening . . . A hard thrust drove me even deeper into the blonde's mouth, and I came with a hoarse yell, muscles clenching around Geneus' length. Shin'ou gulped down every drop I spurted as though it were the best thing he had ever tasted, then released my softening cock with one final, gentle lick at the tip. 

I felt kind of limp, and just let myself go, letting Geneus' thrusts rock me. Three, four, quick and ragged, and then he buried his face in my hair and came, with a soft, strangled cry, filling me with semen—and I do mean _filling_. I could feel a pressure, an odd fullness, building inside my body as he pulsed. When he finally pulled out, I had to smooth my hands over my stomach to convince myself I hadn't swelled up like a . . . _pregnant woman_ was the only analogy that came to mind, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Or maybe crying, I'm not quite sure which. 

Geneus slid out from underneath me, and I lay back, trying to gather my scrambled wits together. It wasn't easy, though, with Geneus curling himself around my right side and Shin'ou scooting up to mirror him on the left. They cuddled me, hands stroking my body . . . funny how I could tell who each hand belonged to, just by how they felt against my skin. Different amounts of callus, on different spots on their fingers and palms . . . They smelled different, too, Geneus like green tea and vanilla with a hint of musty old books, Shin'ou with a heavier, muskier scent that owed some of its individual notes to leather and metal and horses. _I wonder how authentic all of this is? How much is built out of their memories of themselves and each other, and how much is my mind filling in . . . ?_

Something bumped against my hip, and I blinked and looked down to discover that Shin'ou still had an erection. 

"You didn't . . ." I said blankly, the first words any of us had voiced in several minutes. 

"No, I didn't," Shin'ou said. "Not that the two of you weren't a pleasure to watch, but I was hoping . . ." There was that familiar smirk as he looked from one of us to the other. "Both of you _should_ fit . . ." 

"You are incorrigible," Geneus said. "Still, I suppose it _is_ better than the time you tried to seduce that bad-omen bird . . ." 

The blonde rolled his eyes. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you? Not only was I drunk, but you admitted yourself that the wine had been spiked with something that would make you see your grandmother in a horse's ass . . . or vice-versa . . . I don't think Rufus ever lived that one down, either. But back to business." He curled one hand around my cock and one hand around Geneus', and began stroking. 

There were tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, and I scrubbed a hand over my face. _Damn you,_ I thought at the blonde, _why are you treating me like your lover when I know I'm just a means to an end? When this is over and Geneus is alive again, I'm going to have to go back to Earth alone and leave the two of you together, and it's going to hurt like hell._

Geneus caught my hand in his and rubbed our fingertips together. Clearly he felt the wetness, and I fumbled for a way to distract him. "Um, do you mind if I ask one of you to spell out exactly what it is that we're going to be doing next?" 

Geneus snorted softly. "He wants both of us to sodomize him simultaneously." 

I blinked several times, absorbing that. "Oh. Is that even possible?" 

"With some effort and careful manoeuvring." 

"Oh." 

It was a fascinating idea, although I couldn't shake the feeling that Shin'ou wanted to use me as a human dildo. 

I was starting to get hard again. Shin'ou flashed me that familiar smirk and sat up. I expected him to . . . actually, I don't really know what I expected him to do. Kiss Geneus, maybe? _That would be hot._ But instead, he turned his attention to me, kissing his way down my chest to nuzzle at my stomach, and then suckle a bit on my reawakening erection. He did keep one hand on Geneus' crotch, though, kneading slowly, while Geneus himself left more marks on my neck and collarbones. 

"I still don't get how we're going to do this," I muttered. 

"Well, the first thing we need is for you to sit up," Shin'ou said, guiding me into place. "And then you spread your legs and I straddle you like this." Where "like this", apparently, was facing me. "And then we do this." He reached behind himself, smoothly took my cock in one hand, and guided it up, sliding it along the crack in his ass until it found the hole there. I bit my lip as he lowered himself onto me—oh, _spirits_ , the warmth of his body and the way it squeezed my cock were just like that first dream . . . but it was the expression on his face that drew my attention and held it: eyes shut, smirk broadening into a real smile . . . not just an expression of pleasure, but one of relief, although at what, I couldn't have said. 

"And now Saïré gets to play his part," he added, blue eyes snapping open again. 

"Is this supposed to be a privilege, then?" Geneus asked archly as he arranged himself between my legs. 

"How could it possibly be anything else?" 

"I could offer you a list, but I doubt you are truly interested in hearing it. Are you ready?" 

"Always." 

"Very well, then." 

I felt Geneus' cock touch the underside of mine where I was stuffed into Shin'ou, and then it slowly began to rub against me as he pushed inside. Shin'ou moaned loudly. Tight . . . oh, _spirits_ , it was tight. Verging on _too_ tight in the instant that the head of his cock pushed past mine, but I found that I didn't care. Curious, I slid my hand down Shin'ou's ass to test the state of his hole, and found the muscle rimming it stretched to the point where, if this hadn't been a dream, I think it might have split. The blonde man shuddered as I touched him there. 

"Move, both of you, before I go insane." 

I couldn't—it was just too tight in there. Geneus, however, managed to roll his hips, pulling out a little way, then pushing in again. He set up a slow, easy rhythm, and after a bit, I found I could move after all . . . but only if I did it in time with him, out with his pull, in with his push. But the tightness . . . I was half out of my head, making odd little liquid sounds with each thrust. 

As the three of us moved together in unison, I groped at Shin'ou's body, running my hands over skin and scars and muscle, trying to distract myself so that I didn't come too soon. The echo of familiarity that came with touching him was weird, but not unpleasant. I bent experimentally to nuzzle his shoulder, but his head got in the way instead . . . and then we were kissing hungrily. I knew the taste of his mouth, too, distinct from Geneus'. It felt like something that I'd been waiting for for years—touching him, kissing him. Geneus' memories infecting me again, I guess, but just then it was difficult for me to give a damn. 

Shin'ou and I broke our kiss as we began to move faster, the clutch of his body around my cock making pleasure shoot through me in waves. _Not much longer now . . ._ More kisses along my jaw and throat, and someone's fingers were tangled in my hair . . . Shin'ou howled and clawed at my back, squeezing down even tighter as he spattered both our stomachs with his seed, and I groaned as I felt my body give in, pumping him full of mine. That must have set Geneus off as well, because I heard a sharp, indrawn breath and felt his cock pulsing against mine. 

Shin'ou recovered first, and lifted himself off of us. Kneeling on the bed beside us, he drew us both into a bone-cracking hug. 

"I wish we could stay here, like this," the blonde said. I could feel the moist warmth of his breath against my cheek as he spoke. "Maybe not forever, but for a century or so. But Shouri has a life to go back to . . . and you will soon as well, Saïré." 

He kissed Geneus tenderly, but I was more interested in how he had spoken—the way his mouth had crooked, the tilt of his head, and the tone of his voice. The hint of a tremble in the hand that rested on my side, just above the hip. _He's in pain._ The thought was as sharp as a knife, and I had to fight it down. 

I wasn't in love with Shin'ou. _I_ wasn't in love with Shin'ou, but the emotions surging inside me made it difficult to remember that. They didn't feel like they belonged to someone else. It was as though I'd known him as long as Yuuri, and my feelings for him had settled into something warm and solid deep inside me. Not like my feelings for Geneus, which were new and bright and still floating on the surface of my self. 

Shin'ou wasn't the only one who would have liked to stay here like this, wrapped in the warmth of my two companions . . . but at the same time, I was a little disturbed at the thought of what might be happening to my real body. 

"I'll see you both soon on the outside," I said, and finished with quick kisses to Shin'ou's jaw and Geneus' cheek. 

"Indeed," Geneus murmured, but he also sounded a little sad. 

The room dissolved, and I found myself lying on my back in the bed at the temple, with a stranger leaning over me. 

" . . . embryo seems healthy enough, at least as far as I can tell at this stage," she was saying. "I'll know more once it's larger than a pinhead, which means a few hours from now if this is genuinely going to be accelerated. The father's maryoku is binding correctly to support it." 

"Thank you, Amalie," Ulrike said from somewhere outside my field of view. 

Amalie, who had to be the temple's healer, nodded briskly and straightened up. "I'll come back in a couple of hours to make another check, but so far everything looks good." She gave me a reassuring smile and a wink before turning toward the door. 

"Well, that's a relief." At the sound of the voice, I turned my head . . . and discovered a mini-Shin'ou sitting on my pillow. 

I propped myself up on one elbow. There were no obvious changes to my body yet— _and what did you expect?_ the purely rational part of my mind asked. _Even at fifty times normal speed, you can't be more than a couple of days along!_ —but I still felt the fullness in the pit of my stomach that had developed after the first bout of dream-sex, my maryoku was draining out of me at a speed that was making me feel slightly light-headed, and . . . _what in hell is that?_

"Ulrike-san," I said slowly, "would you mind stepping outside for a moment? I think I need to talk to Shin'ou alone." 

The priestess blinked. "Of course, Shouri-dono." She was standing quite near the door anyway, so it didn't take too long for her to leave. 

The moment she did, I stuck my hand down my pants and felt around, wincing as I discovered quite a bit of sticky gunk—I really had come hard, and more than once. But my interest was in what was behind that. I remembered now: a quick, sharp pinch, mostly ignored at the time because of everything else that was happening to me. And there it was, behind my balls: a small, hard object shaped kind of like a barbell, with the bar hidden beneath the surface of my skin. The exposed ends felt like they were faceted stone, or maybe glass, rather than metal. 

I gave Shin'ou a sharp glare. He returned an innocent look—a false innocent look that Geneus' memory recognized, even though I'd never seen it before. 

"I know you have a thing about piercings, but I would have appreciated it if you'd asked me first," I said, keeping my tone as even as I could. _And if you had, I would have told you, "Hell, no!"_

"I didn't put that on you casually," the miniature god-king said. "Or as a mark of ownership either, if that's what you were thinking. It's made of maseki, and you'll need whatever help you can get in regenerating your maryoku over the next little while. Besides, it looks quite fetching on you." There was that damned smirk again. 

"I wouldn't know," I growled. "Since it's in a location where I can't see it." 

"Then you'll just have to trust me on that." 

I snorted. "Isn't that sort of like trusting Anissina about the value of one of her inventions?" I added a yawn as punctuation—I really was tired. _Guess coming here in the middle of the night might not have been the best idea after all._

"You should rest," Shin'ou said. 

"I'm not _that_ tired," I protested, but wasn't able to stop a second yawn. 

"Your body is starting to feel the strain of your pregnancy. Go to sleep for now, Shouri. I'll come back the next time you wake up, and you can chew me out for being presumptuous then." 

He winked out like the picture on a movie screen after someone's stopped the projector. I muttered an English word that Mom would have thought I shouldn't know, and forced myself to get up off the bed so that I could strip my clothes back off—I knew from experience that falling asleep with my shoes on wasn't a very good idea. I finished up by taking off my glasses, folding them carefully, and setting them on a shelf built into the wall above the head of the bed. Then I turned back the covers, crawled in, buried my face in the pillow, and fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn't too bad, really, or at least not for the first couple of days. I did sleep a lot, and eat a lot, but given the choice, I did the same most Sundays. I dreamed very little, or at least I never remembered what I might have dreamt. When I was awake and not eating (or going to and from the toilet across the hall—I did spend a lot of time in there, which was a nuisance but not unbearable), I read, splitting my time between histories of Shin Makoku and the surrounding nations, and books about majutsu. 

Amalie the healer drifted in and out of the room at intervals of two or three hours, depending on what else she was doing. Once or twice, she was the one who brought me my food tray, although she usually left that to her minions. When she happened to enter the room while I was awake, she would give me a brief run-down on my condition and that of the fetus, and what to expect over the next few hours. 

Ulrike came through once a day, and we chatted a bit, although never about anything important—mostly, I peppered her with questions about the majutsu books I was reading, which she answered quite patiently. Although the content of our conversations might explain why I didn't see any more of her. 

Shin'ou . . . hovered, often invisibly, although even with the constant drain on my maryoku I could feel his in the room. He was the one who showed me how to control nausea with a touch of healing majutsu, and the one who helped me back to bed when I suddenly became dizzy in the hall on my way back from the toilet because of an unexpected increase in maryoku drain that lasted several minutes. 

I didn't know what to make of his solicitousness. At first I assumed it had to be for Geneus' sake—a fall might have injured the fetus, and if I couldn't eat, my body might not be able to take the massive metabolic load I was dumping on it—but then I woke in the early morning of the fourth day to find that my blankets had been pushed down past my waist and the golden god-king was sitting on the edge of the bed with what a hard squint resolved into a bowl of some kind of oil in his lap, smoothing the contents into the skin of my stomach. It was so bizarre that all I could do was gape at him. 

"You did say you didn't want to end up with stretch marks," Shin'ou said. "This should help." He dipped his hand in the bowl for more oil, and ran his slick palm over the heavy bulge of the fetus—I'd started showing to an extent that I couldn't pretend was a normal fluctuation in my body sometime in the middle of the second night, and was trying not to be disturbed by it. Actually, what disturbed me more, just now, was the touch of his hand, which was weirdly neither warm nor cold. I'd noticed when he'd come to my aid in the hallway that his body was . . . subtly undefined. Details of shape and texture that were present to the eye were missing when I touched him, and so was his personal scent, so clearly remembered from the trance-dream. If I'd been able to bring myself to kiss him, I would have bet that his mouth wouldn't have tasted of anything, either. 

"I don't understand why you're bothering," I said, reaching for my glasses. I got them on just in time to see the expression on his face, which had been subtle and almost serene, disappear behind one of those fake smirks. 

"Perhaps I just don't want to see such a handsome body marred by something that should be avoidable." 

"You're not really that shallow. Tell me the truth." 

His expression turned wistful. "Aren't little kindnesses like this the sort of things that lovers do for each other, in your world? It takes a lot of effort for me to reach across the barrier, so I don't do it all that often unless someone with maryoku is trying to get my attention, but I didn't think it was _that_ different." 

"Don't say things like that." 

Shin'ou tilted his head to one side. "And why not?" 

"Because we both know that I'm not really your lover." I felt tears prickling at my eyes, and blinked them back. Just because I was pregnant didn't mean I had to start crying in public. I wasn't that weak—I wouldn't _let_ myself be that weak. Even if it hurt to acknowledge that he wasn't really . . . we weren't really . . . 

Shin'ou now offered me a crooked half-smile. "You'd be well within your rights to refuse me, of course—you and Saïré both. I'm a nuisance, a troublemaker, and, technically, I'm dead. You've already done more for me than I deserve, cleaning up the mess I've made of my relationship with my Sage, and at no small inconvenience to yourself." He ran his hand over my belly again, and brought it to rest just below my navel. 

"That isn't why I'm doing it," I said. And that hurt, too. _I give up. You're gorgeous and exasperating and I keep on wanting to hug you and kiss your pain away and if that isn't love, what am I supposed to call it?_

Geneus' future body chose that moment to move inside me. It was the weirdest feeling—butterfly wings beating against me from the inside—but it made Shin'ou's smile deepen into an oddly sweet expression. 

"I know it wasn't me you were trying to help," he said. "But I'm still grateful. Without you, I couldn't have done anything for him, and . . . it would have hurt. I should never have taken his advice about what to do when our supposed enemy approached the temple." 

I frowned, trying to untangle the pronouns—and wondering how he'd known that offering me an intellectual distraction, however minor, was the best thing he could have done for me just then. "Murata's?" 

Shin'ou nodded. "I didn't realize, until that day, just how much he had changed from the man I remembered. Saïré was always a bit calculating, but . . . not like that. Not enough to squeeze the life out of a man just because he didn't fit in with the universe as he thought it should be." 

"I don't think Murata was thinking that clearly," I said slowly. "Actually, I think he was scared, but I'm not sure I understand why. Something to ask Geneus, when he's able to answer." I yawned—it was just so damned hard to keep my eyes open!—then grimaced and propped myself up on my elbows. "Look, I need to stagger across the hall and then stuff my face before I fall asleep again. So I'd appreciate it if you could give me a few minutes before we continue this conversation." 

"I can wait for you here, if you would like." I don't think "tentative" was something Shin'ou needed to express very often. He looked kind of confused. It was . . . endearing. 

"I would like," I said as I flipped back the covers and slid my legs over the edge of the bed. My own clothes didn't fit very well at the moment, but Amalie had found me a pair of loose drawstring pants that provided adequate coverage despite only coming halfway down my calves. She'd found me a robe, too, but I mostly didn't think it was worth the hassle of belting it on. The temple wasn't _that_ cold. 

Those pants were also loose enough to mostly hide the fact that I had an erection. For the past little while, I seemed to be getting them at the drop of a hat, and having Shin'ou lavish attention on me that way had made this one get worse. 

_. . . You'd be well within your rights to refuse me . . ._

"I don't want to refuse you," I muttered. "And it scares me." Had he really been implying something permanent between the three of us? I wasn't sure, and I didn't dare let myself hope, because I wasn't sure I would be able to take the pain of disappointment. Even now, the tears were prickling at me again, and this time, since I was alone, I let a few of them escape. 

It took a bit of mind over matter for me to be able to deal with the other pressure in my lower body, but I managed eventually, washed my hands (and my face, just in case there were any tear tracks), and went back to the bedroom. Amalie's minions had come and gone while I was asleep, clearing the tray of food I'd emptied a couple of hours ago off the desk and laying on fresh. Bread, cold meat, cheese, vegetable sticks and fruit—the items never varied all that much, although they'd quietly quit including that disturbing blue cheese after I'd passed it up twice running. Given the relative proportions of the various items, it was probably a pretty well-balanced assortment, not that I cared—I just wanted something to eat before my stomach gnawed its way through my backbone. 

I was stuffing veggies into my mouth when a cup of steaming tea materialized suddenly by my elbow. Which was not normal. I swallowed and twisted in my seat, and saw Shin'ou leaning against the bookshelf and trying to look nonchalant. He was failing miserably. 

"Thank you," I said, and saw a flicker of warmth dance through those blue eyes. 

"What's the point of being a god if you can't ever requisition something from the kitchen?" 

"I wouldn't know," I said, and sipped from the cup. It was good tea, and hot. "Becoming a god has never been one of my ambitions." I would certainly be able to protect Yuuri better that way, but it sounded too much like the plot from a bad video game for my taste. 

Shin'ou sighed. "It was never really one of mine, either. I didn't even want to be a king, not really." 

My eyebrows rose. "So if you had had the choice . . ." 

"I would have married Saïré and spent the rest of my life popping out cute little double-black children, until we'd repopulated his entire tribe." 

I almost spat tea all over the tray. "You wanted to be a _house-husband_?" 

"I suppose you could put it that way, yes. In the end, though, it turned out not to matter much. If I'd given in and done what I wanted, we would have lost everything." 

His expression almost managed to look neutral, but that twist at the corner of his mouth and the twitching muscle in his jaw told quite a different story. _He's serious, and it's hurting him to remember._

"I'm sorry," was all I could find to say. 

"Well, it could be worse: if my life really had taken that path, he and I would have lived and died four thousand years ago, and we would never have met you." 

I raised an eyebrow. "And that would have been such a tragedy." 

"To me it would." And the way he was looking at me now . . . I found myself blushing, and turned my attention back to the food and the tea as an excuse not to speak. 

Some ten minutes later, I'd emptied the tray, and, bereft of my excuse, had to look up again. Shin'ou was still watching me, with a wistful smile on his face. I didn't say anything, just pushed myself to my feet and shuffled back over to the bed, burrowing into the warmth. 

I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow, but it felt like I'd just closed my eyes when they sprang open again. I mumbled something rude and sat up, realizing as I looked around that I wasn't in the room in the temple anymore. This was the bed where Geneus and Shin'ou and I had made love . . . and I wasn't alone in it. Shin'ou was sitting beside me, with his back propped against the head of the bed. We were both naked, and I still had a fetus distending my belly grotesquely. 

I looked around for Geneus, but he wasn't there . . . although there were subtle signs of his presence in the room: a long tunic draped over the back of a chair, a silver-backed hairbrush on a dresser that had long strands of black twined around it. 

"It would be dangerous to lift him even the least bit out of his new body right now," Shin'ou said. "Given a choice, I'm sure he would prefer to be here, though—he loves you even more than I do." 

"Why?" I asked, then, at his amused look, expanded, "Why would either of you be in love with _me_ of all people? I'm less than one percent of your age, I spend all my time studying or playing dating sims, I do stupid, risky things to protect my brother and screw them up . . . I'm not even much to look at. Especially now," I added, with a grimace and another glance down at where my waist would normally have been. "And you have each other. Why would you want to complicate things by trying to add me?" 

Shin'ou smiled. "You may be young, but you have an old and powerful soul, Shouri. You're still growing into yourself, that's all. And . . ." His smile faded. "In case it didn't make enough of an impression on you the first time I said it, I'm _dead_ , technically speaking. I can't be with Saïré the way you can anymore. I can only make love to him inside an illusion like this—can't give him children . . . I know you feel as strongly for him as he does for you, and I want you to give him everything I can't." 

I swallowed, feeling an unexpected weight of responsibility crash down on me. Because he was right: I did love Geneus, and I wanted him to be happy. 

"As for you and me . . . I have to admit that I didn't expect that to happen at all," the golden god-king continued. "You . . . didn't come much to my attention on your previous visits to Shin Makoku, except as a means to an end. Not until . . . that day . . . You were almost ready to throw yourself between us, weren't you? I wish you hadn't held back." 

"Even if I'd managed to stop you, it wouldn't have saved him," I said. "There just wasn't enough left of Geneus' body by the time he got to the temple. All you could have done was hold him as he died." 

"Which is what I should have done," Shin'ou replied. "There aren't many things I regret, but that's one of them. It would have been such a small gesture . . . and worth so much to him." 

"At the time, you didn't accept him as your Saïré," I pointed out. "The people who have to shoulder the blame here are Murata, Alazon . . . and the original Geneus, the one who died two thousand years ago, I guess. You did the best you could, but you'd been fed bad information. Calling yourself a god doesn't actually make you omniscient." 

The noise Shin'ou made was right on the edge of being a laugh. "And that is part of the reason we need you: complete irreverence, combined with a fresh perspective and a generous heart, at least in matters not pertaining to your brother. And you are _not_ ugly, especially not now. I think this—" He reached out and ran his hand over the mound of my belly again. "—is the most beautiful and fascinating thing I have ever seen. And knowing that I had a hand in _making_ you this way . . . is rather erotic." 

"Is there anything you _don't_ find erotic?" I said in as acidic a tone as I could manage . . . but I couldn't hide my blush, or the _interested_ response of my body. 

He smirked. "I could give you a list, beginning with paperwork and working my way up to Originators, but I think we have something better to do with our time, don't you? After all, I haven't been inside you yet." 

I swallowed, but I was also feeling an ache of eagerness. Sex with him, without Geneus also present . . . I had a feeling it would cement something. And I wanted that too. Wanted it more than anything, except for Geneus to be here with us . . . _but in a sense, he is . . ._ I looked down at my belly again. Bit my lip. 

"On my side?" I suggested at last. "It's going to be difficult to make the geometry work out, otherwise." 

"There are a few other possibilities . . . but I like that one just fine," Shin'ou said, and he scooted over so that he was closer to me. I rolled over so that my back was to him, and he spooned himself against me. At first, he seemed to be less interested in sex than in touching every inch of me, his hand gliding over throat and chest and thighs and distended belly, leaving me with a frustrated, leaky cock. In the end, I grabbed onto that teasing hand and pressed it to my erection, which earned me a soft snort and a kiss at the nape of my neck. He shifted his hips, and his cock slid smoothly into the crack of my ass—not penetrating me yet, just rubbing the inside of the cleft, like a promise . . . as Geneus had done. 

That damned hand of his refused to stay where I had put it, gliding up again to a nipple. He pinched it gently between his fingertips, and I moaned, feeling the echo shoot down my spine all the way to my cock. 

"You're sensitive there, aren't you?" that smooth baritone murmured in my ear. 

"More every day," I admitted, surprised at how steady my voice was. 

"Mmm. I bet I could make you come just by doing this . . ." A pinch, a gentle twist . . . I gasped. 

"That isn't a bet that I'm going to take," I said, and thrust my hips back. Shin'ou laughed. 

"Oh, don't worry, I'll service you properly. Otherwise, how can I be sure you'll come back?" The words might be teasing, but the tone on the last sentence was quite serious. 

"You've made it pretty clear that you know how I feel about you," I said. 

"No. I suspect, I even hope, but I don't read minds." 

The easiest part of him for me to reach was that hand, so I took it in mine a second time and guided it up to my face. I kissed the palm, then the tip of each finger, and then I drew those fingers into my mouth and began to suck on them, closing my eyes so that I could concentrate on the taste of his skin. Behind me, Shin'ou gasped and thrust his hips, rutting against me, his cock sliding maddeningly against the outside of my body. 

I kissed his fingertips one last time, then shifted his hand to my chest, so that it rested right over my heart. 

"Does that help, or do I need to spell it out for you?" I asked hoarsely. 

"So I was right to hope. I'm glad." 

Right to hope . . . _I guess I was, too._

His hand stroked my belly again, sliding slowly down its slope until his knuckles brushed my cock. He didn't pause there, though, instead moving on and down and in to cup my balls. He shifted his hips, pulling back a little, his cock aligning itself with my hole, and then he slowly pushed in. I groaned as the sensation of being filled overwhelmed me, the hard metal of his piercing rubbing inside me and creating a feeling that I'd never even imagined . . . but he was going too damned slow, and I pushed back, trying to impale myself more thoroughly. Now he was the one who groaned as I enveloped his erection with my body. 

"Fuck me," I said, and my voice almost cracked, because I hadn't thought that I would ever say those words to anyone, and especially not him. I heard the catch in his breathing as he pulled most of the way out of me and then plunged back in, making me feel every inch of that gigantic cock. 

"I wish I could make love to you in the real world," Shin'ou murmured in my ear as his hips began to move in a quick, hard rhythm. "Find out what you really taste like here—" He curled his hand around my cock and gave it a gentle squeeze. "—feel your real body close around me, and your real cock oiled and slick and inside me—" 

"Why don't you?" It was hard to string together words with him sending my prostate into overdrive, but I managed somehow. 

"Not worth it. Goes with not having a real body. Can't taste—no touch sensation—" He shifted the angle of his body, and I screamed as his next thrust rubbed his piercing firmly against my prostate, igniting a wave of fire that burned away all rational thought. My hand shot down, closing over his, squeezing my cock more firmly, my body pressing into our combined grip as I moaned and shook and came, spurting in a long arc across the sheets. Shin'ou made an inarticulate noise, thrust deep one last time, and filled me with semen. 

We lay there together for several minutes afterwards, still connected. I wasn't sure about him, but I felt exhausted, although I'm damned if I know how you can get tired in a dream. It was a good kind of exhaustion, though, warm and safe-feeling, with him holding me close. And stroking my belly, again. He really did seem fascinated with it. 

"If you're considering sticking me with a navel piercing . . . don't," I said as his hand lingered over that area a little too long. 

"Not without your consent," came the murmured reply. "Although I do think something like that would look striking on you . . . silver, maybe, with a blue bead . . ." 

"Not a chance." 

He sighed. "A shame. You're a handsome young man, but you would look so much better if you were properly adorned. And if you grew your hair out." 

"You just have a thing for black hair." 

"Mmm . . . I wouldn't say 'just'. You have very nice hair." He nuzzled it, as though to make his point. "Now, there's something I'd like to show you." 

"I don't think you can get any more naked," I said, and he chuckled. 

"Not that kind of thing. I thought you might like to know how Saïré and I first met." 

"I would," I admitted cautiously. 

"Then relax and let yourself drift, and I'll show you my memory of that day."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter that's mostly flashback . . . and then at the end of the one after, the digestive by-products start to hit the rotating ventilation device as the action plot starts to move again. (I didn't realize while I was writing it just how many chapters of this 'fic are purely about the relationship . . .)


	10. Chapter 10

The cobblestones in the courtyard were still clear enough for the horses' hooves to ring against them, but they hadn't been well-maintained lately. The weeds that had teased their way up between them had been there long enough to bloom, and our packhorse was snatching at them enthusiastically, even though she'd had a good feed of grain not three hours ago. 

Likewise, the stables, or at least the open stalls facing the courtyard, were mostly empty except for an old grey carthorse snoozing hipshot in the last stall. We waited several minutes, but no one appeared to investigate our arrival or take the horses, so in the end, I dismounted and handed the reins over to Heinz. 

"Wait here," I told him and Rudolf, the captain of the half-dozen guards everyone had insisted on me bringing along. "I'm going inside." 

"My lord, there might be—" 

I sighed. "The place is empty except for a few old men. Even the villagers said so. Do you really think I'm going to be murdered by an incontinent human octogenarian?" 

"If that's all that's here, _my lord_ , then why are _we_ here?" 

"Chasing a rumour," I said succinctly. _If there really is a Soukoku here, I want him._ The powerful maryoku all double-blacks were said to possess would have been enough of a lure on its own, but word had it that this one had also designed the system of local defenses against bandit attacks. The number of marauders had been increasing as displaced people fled before the storm, but the valley we'd entered this morning had appeared prosperous and peaceful. The defensive works weren't obvious at first, unless you looked at the land with a soldier's eye. Then you could see it: the earthworks and tumbled stone and deliberately untrimmed underbrush that would funnel any but the most careful attackers along the main road to the killing ground near the bridge, edged with a ditch and a steep bank, and with stout gates blocking the entrance and exit to prevent anyone from escaping before the men in the lookout tower could summon archers from the town on the other side of the bridge. The bridge itself was rigged to collapse if necessary. At best, an attacker would gain a few acres of ground so stony that it was useless for farming. It was simple, elegant, and nearly foolproof, assuming that the fools weren't the men in the lookout tower. 

I wanted the man who had designed all of that. I wanted him badly. 

The carving, worn with wind and rain, on the arch over the double-paneled door said "[illegible] Library" in one of the ancient languages that my tutor had insisted on stuffing me with. I'd hated him for it at the time, but now I was glad he'd crammed enough learning into me that the Soukoku I was hunting hopefully wouldn't think I was a total idiot. A man who had settled in this house of ancient documents was bound to be learned. 

I grabbed the heavy brass knocker and swung it against the door. I was rewarded with an echoing, hollow boom that had to be audible three stories up at the back of the building, but I swung it twice more just to make sure whoever was inside didn't think the first noise was a fluke. 

I'd been . . . almost right about the inhabitants of the library complex when I'd made that flippant remark to Rudolf. Human, yes. Elderly, yes. Male, no, although I suppose at her age it barely made a difference. I thankfully had no way of knowing whether she was incontinent or not, although judging from the cane she was leaning on, she wasn't in perfect health. 

"And what can we do for you, young sir?" 

"There's a man living here, a Mazoku—" I began, but she was already shaking her head. 

"This valley doesn't breed up Mazoku, and those who enter from the outside seldom stay." 

But "seldom" wasn't "never". "According to the rumours, this man has black hair and black eyes." 

She froze for a moment, then snorted. "If you're looking for Soukoku, the books of legends and fairy tales are on the second floor of the main wing, in section D-8." 

She was a terrible actress, even though she seemed to have composed her script in advance so that she could avoid saying anything that was actually untrue. It was reassuring, though: if she was willing to try so hard to protect him, the Soukoku had to be a valued member of the community here. Most likely this woman just didn't have the authority to tell me what I wanted to know. 

"I'd like to speak to whoever is in charge here, if I may," I said. 

Her eyes went to my armour, then to my sword. "I can't stop you," she said, and I repressed a wince. _I'm not going to raise a weapon against you, I would never . . ._ "I'll show you to the Director's office, if you wish." 

"Please." I gave her a shallow bow—courtesy didn't cost me anything, and might reassure her. 

She led me across a worn and pitted stone floor between tall bookshelves—I thought this front area of the complex might have been for reception once, but their collection had clearly overflowed its original space long ago. Even the briefest glance at the spines of one shelfful of books showed me works in five languages that I recognized, and a couple more that I didn't. New book, old books, ancient and crumbling books . . . The entire building smelled fusty, like old parchment and fading ink. 

Even the office to which we eventually came was full of books, with shelves jammed against all four walls and meager gaps provided for the door and single window. These ones looked like accounting ledgers, and it was definitely some form of account that the man seated at the desk in the middle of the room was scribbling in a book in front of him. 

He was, I thought, somewhere in late middle age, with greying green hair and a close-trimmed beard. He also sat straight, but not stiff, in his chair, and that and something about the set of his shoulders suggested to me that he'd been a soldier once. 

"Yes?" he barked without looking up from his writing. 

"This guest—" The old woman put more than a touch of irony into the word. "—has asked to speak with you." 

That made him look up. His eyes were light brown, the colour of a good southern beer, and they met mine unflinchingly. "And you are?" 

"My name is Magnus Schwarzwald," I said, truthfully enough. 

"The young Mazoku lord who has been fighting the darkness from the east." 

I grimaced—my reputation had preceded me. Again. "Fighting and losing. That's why I'm here." 

The director of the library steepled his fingers. "I hardly think the records of ancient times will be of much help to you, but you may, of course, read anything you want—" 

"Actually, there's a particular scholar here whom I would like to consult." 

"I'm certain that any of our community would be glad to help you . . ." 

"He's looking for Saïré," the old woman said from behind me, and the director froze. 

_Saïré,_ I repeated to myself. Old Heressian for _black_. A fitting name for a Soukoku. 

"I don't mean him any harm," I said. "In fact, if you like, I'll leave my sword with you. Just permit me to speak to him. Please." 

A long pause. Then the director said, "Go back to the door, Merella." 

There was a sigh from behind me, and the sound of the office door closing. The director sat back in his chair. 

"I would offer you a seat, Lord Schwarzwald, but as you see . . ." The director gestured, then shrugged. And indeed, with the door closed, there was only just enough space for me to stand in, between the bookshelves and the forward edge of his desk—not nearly enough room for an extra chair. "I need to explain Saïré's circumstances to you before I even consider introducing you to him." 

I folded my arms and leaned back against a shelf. "Go on." 

The green-haired man heaved a sigh. "Well. About twenty years ago, a caravan of Mazoku merchants from the north came to our valley, looking to trade their copper and linen for our oats and turquoise. I was in our militia back then, so when the news came in of a disturbance at their camp, I was one of the first on the scene." 

His grimace suggested that the memory wasn't a pleasant one. "They had . . . there was a man, lying unconscious on the ground. Naked. He had shackle sores on his wrists and ankles, his hair had been crudely shaven off, leaving his scalp all but shredded, his left arm was broken, and there were cuts and bruises all over his bare back. And scattered around him were several dozen fist-sized stones. There were more of those in the merchants' hands. They didn't even try to hide them. More than that, they had the gall to tell us that we were interfering with their private business!" 

His hands were no longer steepled, but clenched into fists. "Our captain told them that there was no legitimate business he could think of that involved stoning a man to death—it isn't a permitted penalty here for even the worst of crimes—took their victim from them, and brought him back here, since one of the scholars who lived here back then was a skilled healer. We didn't know that we'd rescued a Soukoku until his hair started to grow back in. He didn't remember himself, you see. He didn't, and doesn't, remember anything of his life before the day he woke up here, not even what his real name might have been." 

"But he's all right otherwise?" If he was too badly damaged, he might be of no use to me, Soukoku or no. It would be difficult to accommodate an invalid at a military encampment. 

"He's in better health than anyone else currently resident at the Library," the director said with a snort. "Except for a few scars on his back, there's no sign left of what happened to him . . . but he tends to avoid other Mazoku. The few times we've had any of your people visit here, he's disappeared into the hills and camped there until they left. In fact, I would be very surprised if he's still here now." 

"I promise I'll handle him as gently as I can," I said. "I really do need his help . . . and even if I didn't, I don't believe in that superstition about Soukoku being bad luck." 

The director raised his eyebrows. "Don't you?" 

I shook my head firmly. "I make my own luck." 

"Hmm." A long pause as the director steepled his fingers again and stared at me. " . . . All right. I'll send someone to see if he's in." 

That took about ten minutes before the expected answer came back: he wasn't. 

"Signed out a couple of volumes of Castoral and one of Lirienne and took off this morning, not long after dawn," the oldster who had run the errand informed us, banging his gnarled oak cane on the floor for emphasis. "Said he'd be back in a few days, 'pparently." 

It took me until the nameless errand-runner had stomped off again to place the authors he had mentioned. _So Saïré likes Quantish lyric poetry. Interesting._

"Do you know where he would have gone?" I asked the director. 

"The few times someone's actually needed to find him, he's been in the hills south of the river." A pause. "If you're going to go after him, I'd strongly suggest that you go alone and leave your sword behind." 

"Thank you," I said. 

Rudolf was nearly beside himself when I handed him my sword and told him that he and the others would be staying where they were for the time being. 

"If something goes wrong, my lord—" 

I snorted. "This is a law-abiding area, and I have my majutsu to protect myself with if necessary. Don't worry about me. That's an order," I added. Rudolf winced, but he took it. After all, I wasn't giving him much of a choice. 

The river hills turned out to be quite pleasant, lush and green with scattered clumps of trees interrupting the grass, and it was a beautiful day. My horse broke into a canter just for the sheer joy of it when I let her have her head so that I could use my majutsu to search the area for evidence of other Mazoku. _Nothing . . . nothing . . . there!_ He was doing his best to hide himself, but his power was like mine: so strong that the spirits trumpeted his presence to anyone with the ability to ask. 

It took another half an hour to find my way up to where he sat on the ground under a shade tree, with his horse grazing nearby. He had a book in his lap, but his eyes were on the horizon instead. When I turned in the saddle to follow his gaze, I winced. Unnatural dark clouds were boiling above the eastern hills . . . which could mean only one thing. _I thought it was still further east . . . These people don't have much longer._ My hands tightened around the reins. _Why does this have to happen?! This beautiful, fertile valley, prosperous and at peace . . . and in mere weeks, it'll all be gone. These people haven't done anything to deserve this!_

My horse jerked her head up as my anger transmitted itself to her, looking for the enemy, and I forced myself to relax, pat her shoulder, and start her forward again at a gentle walk. 

"And so even this land will soon be engulfed by evil." I was barely close enough to hear the words as he softly spoke them. He sounded resigned, or maybe just tired. It would make sense if he were. Everything he had spent the past twenty years building was going to vanish in less than a month. 

"You seem carefree enough despite the destruction looming in front of you," I said, swinging down from my horse. Not the smartest thing to say, maybe, but I was hoping to cheer him up. 

His head jerked up at the sound of my voice. He turned to face me . . . and I froze in place. 

_You're real!_ The exact face from that long-ago vision—a long oval with sharp, chiseled features, an expressive, thin-lipped mouth currently compressed with irritation, pointed chin, finely-drawn brows, and those eyes, so dark that I could feel myself falling into them endlessly . . . And the rest of him was just as beautiful. Long-fingered, dexterous hands, straight inky-black hair that reached to the middle of his back, and a lean body that I couldn't see as clearly as I would have liked through the multiple layers of shirt and long tunic, although it was clear that he was, as the director of the library had said, in good health. I winced with discomfort as my sudden erection pressed against the boiled-leather codpiece I wore for support and protection inside my pants—walking was not going to be fun until that deflated, but at least Saïré wouldn't be able to see how he was affecting me. 

_Say something,_ I told myself. "You really do have black hair . . . and black eyes . . ." _Oh, that's just great—not only are you babbling, but it looks like you've offended him!_ The frown had deepened, those elegant brows had drawn together, and he was looking back down at his book. 

"It is good that you are inquisitive, but nothing good can ever come of associating with me. Or perhaps you are unaware that all Soukoku are accursed." 

"I don't believe in curses of that nature. And I think your colouring is beautiful." I took a couple of steps forward, placing me close enough that if he'd wanted to, he could have stretched out his hand and touched my knee. "Besides, I came here looking for you, so that I could plead with you to use your knowledge and power in my service." 

He looked up again. He was still frowning, but I could see the faintest glint of curiosity in his eyes. "To what purpose?" 

"To fight that." I gestured in the direction of the dark horizon. 

A black eyebrow rose. "The Originators . . . Do you truly believe you will be able to contest effectively with such a force?" 

_I don't have a choice. If someone doesn't stop them, the world is going to end, and so far no one else has stepped up._ But Saïré had to already know that. He clearly wasn't a stupid man. Still, there had to be something more positive, more _useful_ , for me to say than an admission of weakness. I had to have this man—had to persuade him to come with me. _I've been waiting for you for so long._

I swallowed. Held out my hand. Met his eyes. "I believe _we_ can do it. Together." 

He looked at me for a moment in silence. And then he smiled, the sweet expression I had seen decades ago in the depths of a silver bowl, and placed his hand in mine. It wasn't, I noted as I helped him to his feet, a soft hand, although I could tell that he hadn't held a sword any time recently. Instead, his calluses spoke of long hours spent holding a pen, and others with a horse's reins crossing his palm, and some time wielding common tools. And he moved smoothly and gracefully, at home in his body. 

He was the most perfect person I had ever met, the partner I had always wanted but never dared ask the spirits for . . . _but I can't let myself forget the reason he was up here, all alone,_ I told myself. Beautiful, brilliant, powerful . . . and skittish, with a clouded past. _We'll work on that._ Not that I could erase what had happened to him, but surely I could show him that not all Mazoku hated him. 

Suddenly, he spoke again. "You are either a boastful fool . . . or a true hero. I wish I could be certain which." His smile had changed, become wry, as though he was laughing inwardly at himself. 

"A bit of both, maybe?" I suggested. 

A soft snort. He strode over to his horse and stuffed the book he had been reading into a saddlebag, then turned to face me again. "You never did introduce yourself." 

I winced. "You're right—my mother would be appalled. Magnus Erlan Schwarzwald, of . . . well, nowhere, now." I offered him the bow I would have given to someone of my own rank if we'd been meeting for the first time. 

"And I am called Saïré." He returned my bow with a graceful ease that suggested long practice—whatever he had been before he'd lost his memory, he was no peasant. You don't learn noble etiquette growing up in a mud hut. And that little hand gesture, and the way he placed his feet . . . _He's from the northwest, or whoever taught him was. They wear that kind of tunic in the Christ lands, don't they? He might have chosen clothing that felt familiar, even if he didn't know why . . ._

"We'd probably better get back to the Library," I said. "You'll have to pack quickly if we're going to leave today." 

There was that smile again. "That should not be difficult, since I own comparatively little. But I do need to return the books." 

Then the world slid sideways, and I was suddenly Shouri Shibuya again, heavily pregnant, sexually sated, and lying in bed beside Shin'ou, whose memory I'd just been reliving. _It was very_ like _what Murata told us about that meeting, but I'm pretty sure there were some subtle differences—in the dialogue, the timing, and the gestures. I wonder which version is more accurate._

"Did you ever find out who he was . . . before?" I asked, curious. 

"No. I did try, but, well, there was a war going on. The fragments I managed to piece together suggested that he might have been from a small estate near the eastern edge of what's now Christ Province, but by the time I found that out, the place had been depopulated, and I was never able to trace any of the residents. For all I know, Saïré might be my brother." 

I blinked. "Are you serious?" 

"My father used to get around a lot," Shin'ou said with a shrug, just visible out of the corner of my eye. "There was a rumour that, a decade or so before I was born, he took up with a Soukoku woman for about six months, and knocked her up. If it actually happened, she left not long after she realized she was pregnant, and long before the baby was born. So I have no way of knowing if she carried it to term, or if it was a Soukoku like her, or even whether it was a boy or a girl . . . but Saïré would have been about the right age." 

"And you still slept with him, knowing that?" 

Shin'ou's reflection in my glasses looked a bit non-plussed for a moment. "I keep on forgetting you were raised in a different culture. Sex with, or even marrying, your brother or sister has always been allowed among Mazoku in this world, although it's never been common. And the chances of Saïré and I actually being related aren't all that high, so why shouldn't we express our love for each other?" 

"It's none of my business, anyway," I said. 

"Now, that isn't true at all. You're part of this relationship now too, Shouri. You have the right to know about the things that affect Saïré and me." 

I swallowed a hysterical laugh back down, but something must have shown on my face, because Shin'ou smoothed his hand over my stomach to get my attention. "Are you all right?" 

"I guess it just hit me, that's all," I said, flushing. "I mean, not only am I suddenly in an all-male threesome, but I'm pregnant with one of my lovers while the other one is a four-thousand-year-old ghost that everyone claims is a god, and we can only get together in dreams, and both of you are feeding me slices of your memories. It's weird." 

"When you put it that way, I suppose it is," Shin'ou said. "You know, we can't force you to be part of this—part of us. If you don't want—" 

"Don't say that," I interrupted. "Not even as a joke. This . . . despite the weirdness, it feels great. I've never been in love before. I don't want it to end." 

"Thank you. Although about feeding you slices of our memories . . . there are a few things that you still may need to know about the relationship Saïré and I had . . . before." 

My face got even redder, but I managed to force out, "I already know about the whole tie-me-up-and-spank-me thing you had going." 

"But do you understand why?" 

I took a deep breath. "I think so. It was . . . about trust and control, wasn't it? With him, you didn't need to be a general, or a king—you could release your control and let him dominate you, and trust him not to make you do anything you would regret. And he trusted you with his heart, his life, even his soul, partly because you offered yourself to him that way." I was surprised that I had managed to put all that together, because I'd never consciously thought about it, and the entire situation was pretty far outside my experience. 

"That was part of it, but also . . . after I sealed the Forbidden Boxes . . ." 

I touched his wrist. "If it hurts you to talk about it, then don't." Because the way he was forcing each word out made me want to wince. 

"No. You need to hear this, and . . . I need to say it." A momentary pause. "The contamination, it . . . made me very short-tempered. Aggressive. When he treated me like that, it reminded me that . . . there were consequences. And it . . . helped me let go of some of the guilt when I did slip. Without it, I don't think I would have . . . remained myself . . . nearly as long. He didn't enjoy it, either. Not for itself. He did it because he wanted to reduce my suffering. When he truly cares for someone, he's capable of tearing out his heart if he thinks it might help them. It's . . . terrifying, not least because he hides what he's feeling so well." 

"I'll take care of him," I said. "Whatever I can do." 

I felt Shin'ou kiss the nape of my neck. "Thank you." 

I fumbled for a change of subject. The best I could come up with was, "Do you want me to tie you up?" The idea was a bit disturbing, because I'd never imagined myself wanting to do such a thing, but it was also hot as hell—and Shin'ou had to be thinking so too, because I could feel his cock, still inside me, give an interested twitch and begin to swell. 

"Eventually, if you're willing. I trust you, too." He made a shallow movement with his hips, and I pushed mine backward to meet him, my erection returning rapidly with every stroke over my prostate. 

"Would you like to tie me up?" That was even more disturbing, and yet . . . 

"Do you want me to?" 

"I don't know." There was something seductive about the idea of giving up all control, of a slice of time where I didn't have to be responsible for what sometimes felt like everything and everyone around me— _inflated opinion of yourself much, Shouri?_ —but I wasn't sure I'd be comfortable about doing it that way. 

"The three of us can talk about it when you figure out what you want, then." 

"Do you two have any safewords?" I'd done enough reading on the Internet, after the dream about the candlewax, to have some understanding of necessary precautions. 

Shin'ou's brow furrowed. "'Safe . . . '?" 

I did my best to explain, knowing that I was turning red again. 

"Ah, I see. No, 'stop that' always worked well enough for us—I was never interested in pretending to be reluctant. If it turns out that we need something . . . later on, we can work it out then." Shin'ou ran his hand down over my stomach again, wound it around my cock, and began to stroke, but what was echoing my head were those words: _the three of us. We._ Having the two of us alone here felt . . . vaguely unbalanced. I closed my eyes and pictured Geneus lying propped on one elbow on the bed in front of me, staring intently at the two of us and smiling as he touched himself . . . _Yes. That's right. That's how it should be._

I kept the image firmly in my mind as we began to move faster and Shin'ou began to include my balls in what he was doing with his hand. It took less than a minute for me to spend myself all over his fingers, and only a moment more for him to make a growling noise and spill inside me . . . and my imaginary Geneus came too, with a shudder and a soft sound of pleasure. 

Shin'ou kissed the nape of my neck again as he pulled out of me—he seemed to enjoy doing that, just as much as he enjoyed feeling up my stomach. 

"You should rest," he said. "You're barely twelve hours from giving birth." 

"I really needed you to remind me of that," I grumbled. "Although I have to admit that I'm looking forward to not feeling like a damned cow anymore."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the last flashback of any length.
> 
> By the way, if anyone's curious, the name "Saïré" is meant to be pronounced according to French spelling conventions--"sah-ee-ray"--although if you're more comfortable with something else inside your own head, go for it. Other non-canon Mazoku names are intended to be pronounced as though they were German, since that's the ultimate source of several of the canon names. Did I mention that I know just enough of several languages to be dangerous to both myself and others?


	11. Chapter 11

The birth part was . . . utterly freaky. 

I woke up in the still hours before dawn with a growing ache in my abdomen and a desperate need to get to the damned toilet. I was feeling pretty fuzzy again, and it took me a couple of minutes to realize what was going on, even though Amalie had described the process for me. 

_Your water's going to break before anything much really happens. Since you don't have a vagina, it has to come out another orifice._ She'd smacked me lightly on the ass at that point as a combination of emphasis and explanation, and I'd grimaced. _You'll be seeing a line of paler skin across your belly at that point, where the capillaries will be choking themselves off to prevent excessive bleeding. The split will start to open somewhere between ten minutes and half an hour after your water breaks, and when it's complete, we'll be able to lift out the fetus and placenta as a unit. And don't give me that look. By all accounts, it's less painful than what a woman goes through—you won't really have contractions, and you won't be forcing a solid object larger than my two fists out an opening the size of a grape!_

"Maybe not," I grumbled at the empty room as I lay down on my back after finishing up in the toilet, "but it isn't _your_ stomach that you're talking about splitting open." There was a curved white line about as wide as two of my fingers running across my abdomen, with the lowest point just above my navel, and I could see—and feel—the split beginning just left of center, a stinging red trace that suddenly parted to give me a narrow view of my insides. It was disturbing, and I removed my glasses and set them aside to blur things a bit. 

That didn't keep me from recognizing the tiny form of Shin'ou when he appeared beside my pillow, however. 

"Are you all right?" 

I grimaced. "So far. Get Amalie for me, will you?" 

"Of course." 

When the healer arrived, she fed me something—a rolled-up leaf pellet—and a few minutes later, I was feeling even more hazy and hurting a lot less. I heard a brief argument, baritone versus alto, but couldn't concentrate enough to make out the words. A few moments later, a pair of hands fumblingly wrapped themselves around my right one. They were neither hot nor cold, and the texture was a bit off. I smiled fuzzily. I also squeezed hard enough to crush Shin'ou's bones if he'd had any whenever I felt the stinging pain of the split in my abdomen extending itself. It seemed to help. 

I did feel Amalie lift the fetus—lift _Geneus_ —out of me, and that was the weirdest, or at least the weirdest- _feeling_ , part of all. He made a sort of coughing-yelpy noise, and then Amalie handed him off to someone outside my field of vision and bent over me again, doing something with the disconnected flesh over my stomach. After a few minutes, she grunted in satisfaction and fed me another leaf pellet—a different kind, I guess, because I started to get less fuzzy. 

"Are you with me? Shouri-sama?" 

"Yeah," I sighed, and reached for my glasses. 

Amalie's expression was calm and maybe even a bit proud of me as I brought her face into focus. "Good. I've glued you back together, and you'll doubtless be pleased to hear that the Sage's new vessel appears quite healthy. Would you like to hold him?" 

It was going to be weird, but . . . "Please." 

Geneus, I discovered as she placed him in my arms, made an adorable infant who smiled as he saw me, although his wide, jet-black eyes were serious and far too old for a newborn. I couldn't see many other hints of the man I remembered in that tiny body, though. 

"It'll be a little while before he's completely himself, even with accelerated aging," Shin'ou said, as though reading my mind. "He should get to the point of being able to talk before you leave, though." 

"I hope so," I said. "There's a lot I want to talk to him about." 

"And a lot that the three of us need to talk through together," Shin'ou murmured. "Although that may be a little too soon for that." 

"Talking about some of that with someone who looks like a kid—even if I know it isn't true—would feel kind of icky," I admitted. Baby Geneus reached up and patted my face as though he was trying to reassure me, and I smiled at him—I couldn't help it. 

"We can wait," Shin'ou said. "Mazoku of our age tend to be rather good at that." 

"There _are_ no other Mazoku your age," I pointed out. "Unless you count Murata." 

"Mmmm." There was a momentary pause. Then Shin'ou smirked. "You do realize that I'm going to be making a point, from now on, of invading your dreams even when you're on Earth . . . ?" 

As I flushed, Amalie cleared her throat. "Your Majesty, I apologize most humbly for interrupting, but the infant needs to be fed, and I would like to snatch another hour or two of sleep." 

"Sorry," I said, since Shin'ou didn't seem like he was about to. "Um, if you don't mind my asking, how long is it going to take me to recover?" My stomach, although it seemed to be in one piece again, was spread across me like a deflated balloon decorated with an angry white-and-red stripe, which was just as disturbing as the fully-inflated version had been. 

"Two or three days," Amalie said as she accepted Baby Geneus and immediately handed him off to an attendant, who left the room with him. "That's what your maryoku's draining into right now: healing you. The extra skin and flesh gets resorbed rapidly, and the glue will keep the flesh along the split from shifting while it heals. By the end of the third day, well, you might have a slight pigmentation defect along the line of the split, but otherwise no one will ever be able to tell what happened." 

And the only person on Earth who might recognize that pigmentation defect would be Murata, which meant that I would have to be careful about taking off my shirt when he was around, but I could live with that. 

"You should continue to rest as much as possible for the first day," the healer added. "After that, you should make some effort to put your leg muscles to work again. You probably won't be very hungry, and you shouldn't force yourself to eat. Your body's had plenty to tide it over." 

I nodded understanding, and the healer left the room, leaving me alone with Shin'ou. 

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" the god-king asked. 

I shook my head. "I feel wide awake—probably that last leaf-pill she fed me." 

"Would you like to talk, then?" 

"Sure . . . but not about anything important," I said. "I'm not sure I'm completely in my right mind." 

The blonde chuckled and dwindled down to his six-inch size beside my pillow. "Lie back, and I'll tell you a story." 

It ended up being several stories, actually—silly things about the distant past, the earliest days of Shin Makoku while Blood Pledge Castle was being built. I noticed as he spoke that there were no echoes inside me, even though the Sage had definitely been present for some of the events. Geneus' memories were no longer lodged inside me, although I retained my command of the Mazoku language . . . and my feelings for Shin'ou. 

I wasn't going to be changing any further for a while, except in the normal way that everyone changes. Hopefully that meant I would have a chance to figure out just who Shouri Shibuya was now. 

" . . . had to build a derrick to lift Rufus out of all that dragon dung . . . Are you all right, Shouri?" 

"Just thinking," I said. 

Shin'ou snorted. "I have a feeling you're going to be as bad about that as Saïré—he was always getting lost inside his own head too. There were a couple of times it got so bad that I was almost ready to send an armed search party in after him." 

"What were you going to arm them with?" I asked, genuinely curious. 

"Ah, you see, that's why I never did it." 

That made it my turn to snort. 

By late afternoon, the folds of flesh around my stomach had shrunken considerably, and I was able to stuff myself into my own clothes and walk around a bit. Which was a good thing, because I don't know what would have happened if Yuuri had shown up while I was still pregnant, or lounging around in bed in those borrowed drawstring pants with my empty belly hanging down to my crotch. 

I was actually in the courtyard when two black heads popped up out of the octagonal pool, one of them sporting a rakish lily pad over the ear. The other one turned to face me immediately. 

"Shouri! Are you okay? Mom woke up and found your note, and she was really worried—" 

I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine—I just had something I needed to talk to Ulrike about, okay, Yuu-chan? Mom needs to start getting it through her head that I'm a big boy now and I can take care of myself." 

"Um," my brother said intelligently. 

Murata dropped his lily pad back into the pond and gave me a crooked grin. "Well, we were a little surprised that you'd figured out how to move between worlds on your own. It made it feel like something was a bit off, but if you're okay . . ." 

"I'm _fine_ ," I repeated. "I'll be going back tomorrow or the next day. And even if I weren't fine, I'd have to be in pretty bad shape before I needed my _little brother_ to come check up on me." 

Yuuri scowled at me. "I'm not allowed to _worry_ about you?" 

I went through most of the argument that followed without really listening to what either of us was saying—rote challenges, rote responses. Part of me was busy being relieved . . . and the other part was watching Murata. Who was watching me. _Not good._

"Well, since we're here anyway, I might as well go up to the castle and see what's going on," Yuuri said, and stomped off. Murata and I watched him go. 

"You're not going with him?" I said, hoping to prod him into the course of action I wanted. 

"Normally I stay here to keep an eye on Shin'ou . . . but I suppose it's possible Yuuri might need me more this time around. It's . . . unusual . . . for you to go after him that way." 

"It's a big brother thing," I said. "You have to have had one—or been one—in at least one of your lifetimes." 

Murata's eyes were hidden by the reflection off his glasses. "There's more going on here than that—sorry, Shibuya's-big-brother: you lie well, but not _that_ well. And you didn't come here to see Ulrike either, did you?" 

"He came here to see me," Shin'ou said, materializing directly behind me. 

"You? What could he possibly want . . . with . . ." Murata's voice trailed off as Shin'ou pressed a kiss to the nape of my neck. Or at least, I think that was what he was doing, since the tactile feedback was fuzzy again. 

"You've said many times that you're no longer interested, so that makes my love life none of your business," Shin'ou said coolly. "And Shouri's never was." 

Murata ran a hand through his hair. "I suppose I should have known you'd throw yourself at the first halfway attractive double-black man who crossed your path—good thing Shibuya's too young to spark your interest. I take it you two don't want him to know about this." 

I flushed, but forced myself to say firmly, "Not yet." Not until Geneus was there and we could have the whole thing out at once, since I wasn't crazy enough to believe I could keep it a secret forever. 

The other Great Sage spent several more moments staring at me. Then he sighed. "All right. I'll keep my mouth shut. For now. Just keep in mind that you both owe me one." 

"And he'll collect in the most unpleasant way possible, too," Shin'ou said ruefully as we watched the young Sage's retreating back. 

"Great," I muttered. "I don't suppose we could take a moment to look in on . . . him." On Geneus, I meant. 

Shin'ou seemed to understand without my needing to mention a name. "So long as you understand that he's almost certainly going to be asleep. Accelerated aging isn't all that different from what you just did, in terms of metabolic load." 

"Except without the 'peeing for two' part, I hope," I muttered. "I'd still like to see him—I guess I need to remind myself why I'm going through all this." 

"Being with me isn't enough of a reward?" the golden god-king asked. 

"I wouldn't be with you if not for him," I pointed out. "And right now, I feel like we're a two-legged tripod." 

"It's nice to know that that isn't just me," Shin'ou admitted, a shadow crossing his expression. "He's in the infirmary—Amalie wanted him to be where she could watch him all the time, instead of just glancing in occasionally, since he's pushing things even harder than we were for you." 

I still didn't know my way around the temple all that well, so I let Shin'ou lead the way inside, up a staircase, down a staircase, and around a corner. Amalie looked up as we stepped through the doorway, then went back to what she had been doing, which seemed to involve a mortar, a pestle, some purple seeds and chunks of gnarled, greenish root, and a lot of muttering. 

Geneus lay in a bed near the healer, hidden from the doorway (but not from her) by a free-standing screen. Shin'ou hadn't been joking about accelerated aging, either: the body lying curled on its side in the bed was that of a toddler, not an infant. _Maybe a month an hour?_ I thought incredulously. Even as I watched, he whimpered softly and shifted. 

"He's in pain," I whispered. 

"That sort of forced growth is said to be agonizing," Shin'ou murmured back. "He's pushing it as fast as he can without splitting any tissues. Two days to coherent speech, ten to adulthood." 

_He wants to be back with us very badly,_ I thought. It was . . . both cheering and painful at the same time. 

My power was slowly coming back now that I was no longer pregnant and partially recovered from my ordeal, and I reached out and put my hand on Geneus' shoulder and tried to heal him. I don't know how much good I did, but he shivered and relaxed slightly under my touch, so maybe I did make him hurt a bit less. 

"He's a hell of a lot braver than I'll ever be," I murmured. 

"I disagree," Shin'ou replied softly. "He merely has tremendous endurance." 

_Thousands of years worth,_ I thought. That was the part of them I could never really understand: what it meant to hold fast to each other through so many centuries, so many lifetimes. I wasn't sure I wanted to know . . . or what I would do if one of them decided to offer me some skewed flavour of immortality or other, just to keep me with them. 

I brought a book into the infirmary and sat by Geneus' bedside for the rest of the day. Amalie didn't seem to mind as long as I was quiet, and Geneus . . . Well, I don't know whether he knew I was there, but I hoped he did. Shin'ou was there too, mostly in miniature form, sitting with us and just enjoying the company, I guess. 

I was in the infirmary the next day, too, when Murata came in, strode past the screen, and froze in place beside my chair, staring at the bed and at a seemingly-fourish-year-old, unconscious Geneus. 

The young Sage took a slow, deep breath, then turned his eyes on me. "You lied to me, didn't you? And did a better job this time," he added ruefully. 

"Only by omission," I said. "He did ask me not to put him back into you. I just never told you that I'd chosen to carry his soul myself until I could find a better place to put it." 

"And that isn't why you're here," the miniature Shin'ou added. "You're never this rude about anything that isn't urgent." 

Murata sat down on the edge of the bed. "I came . . . well, there's no easy way to say this." He tilted his head. From the angle of it, he was looking at me again, but the reflections from his glasses made it impossible to see his expression clearly. "Shibuya's soul has been stolen."


	12. Chapter 12

At first, I couldn't seem to extract any meaning from the words. "Stolen," I fumbled out at last. "The way yours was six months ago?" 

Murata grimaced. "It looks that way. Only this time we're not going to have any security cameras or friendly police officers to help track it down. He was in his office doing paperwork, and Gwendal came in to find him slumped over his desk. No one saw anyone enter or leave." 

"How can you be sure he didn't just . . . die?" I asked, tasting something bitter on my tongue. 

"Because there was a note left behind: 'right one'." 

"Shit," I said. "I thought you said Yuuri didn't have anything to do with that soul-stealing business." 

Murata winced. "To be honest, I don't remember the parameters for the soul they want. At all." 

"It is the Maoh's soul," said a child's voice. 

We all blinked and looked down. Geneus' eyes were open, but he remained curled on his side under the sheets. 

"It had been bothering me," he explained, "and so I conducted a search of my memory to retrieve what I could without falling into darkness . . . for in that incarnation I was— _we_ were," he corrected himself, glancing at Murata, "quite mad, crushed under the weight of remembering so many lives that made no sense to a child who had never gone beyond Mbahata's shores . . . a girl-child who had soul-deep memories of being a man." 

Murata looked startled. "Kekele." 

"Kekele," Geneus agreed. "Who founded the Kyel-bware to search for and purify the soul of his lover." Dark eyes shifted to Shin'ou, who was standing on the bed in six-inch form, but the miniature ex-king turned to look up at me. 

"I'm sorry," he said. "It looks like this was . . . my fault." 

I rolled my eyes. "I don't see how," I said. "You didn't found this cult or send it hunting for a Maoh's soul. And it was _not_ your fault that this Kekele person was crazy. It wasn't _anybody_ 's fault. I won't have you blaming yourself—or you or you, either," I added, looking at Geneus, then Murata. "Kekele is dead, and neither of you seems to want to be . . . him? Her? I'm not quite clear on that, but I do know that neither of you should be held responsible for stuff that you identify so little with that you mostly can't even remember it." 

"People on Earth today would describe Kekele as transgender," Murata put in. "Female body, but with a male self-image. It . . . caused him a lot of trouble. He didn't start out crazy. The triple load of having a body that didn't match his inner self, a family that didn't accept him, and, of course, all of our memories, was just too much for him." 

I took a deep breath. "Okay, so we know, if not where Yuuri's soul is, then at least where it's going. What about his body?" 

"Anissina has it in cold storage," Murata said. "You remember—like what we did for Wolfram when his heart stopped." 

"So if we get his soul back, we can put him back together," I said, trying _not_ to visualize my brother lying in that coffin-thing in Anissina's lab. "We need to go straight to this Mbahata place by the quickest method possible, and intercept them if we can." 

"We do have a bit of leeway," Geneus said. "They will not make the sacrifice until the summer solstice, which will not be for more than a month." 

"So we commandeer a naval vessel and head south," Shin'ou said. 

"'We'? By the time we're even with Svelera, we won't be able to find you without a microscope," Murata said. 

Shin'ou smirked. "Oh, I'm not going like _this_. We do have a spare body lying around right now, after all, so I figured I'd borrow it for the duration. It'll make it faster to reassemble Yuuri when we finally find all the parts if we don't have to come back here for one of them." 

Murata gave him a Look. "And how do you expect us to get _your_ soul back here?" 

The smirk stayed firmly in place. "I'm sure Shouri will rise to the occasion even if you and Geneus won't." 

"Just what I need," I muttered . . . although he was right: I probably would agree to hold his soul inside my body if it was the only way to get him back here in one piece. I just wasn't looking forward to it. "Although I'm not sure I should give you permission to use Yuuri's body. Knowing you, you'd return it with holes in it. And extra jewelry." And the idea of my lover's eyes looking out at me from my brother's face was creepy, but I had a feeling I'd just have to put up with it, because the phrase "back down" didn't seem to be included in Shin'ou's vocabulary. 

Shin'ou sighed. "Oh, very well. No piercings. I'll be as careful as possible, and return the body undamaged. I promise." 

I would have to be satisfied with that, because I knew I wasn't likely to get anything better. 

"I came up in a carriage," Murata said. "We'll need to pack up, grab Shibuya's body, and somehow get down to the harbour without picking up Wolfram, Conrad, Gunter, and Josak along the way." 

"Bringing Lord Weller might not be so bad an idea," Geneus said. "None of us save Magnus is a swordsman of any ability, and he will be in an unfamiliar body. Majutsu is not the answer to all problems." He was pushing himself up into a sitting position, moving slowly and stiffly, and revealing that he was wearing a nightgown-like garment several sizes too large, with the neckhole wide enough to allow one shoulder to slide out. 

Shin'ou, in a single motion, jumped off the bed, manifested at full size, and grabbed Geneus by the shoulders, pushing him back down. "What do you think you're doing?" 

"Coming with you." Geneus stated in a tone that said it _should_ have been obvious. 

"Saïré, for someone so wise, you can be such an _idiot_ sometimes. You know you aren't in any condition to be moving around." 

"Moving will not cause me any damage. The pain is irrelevant." Geneus' mouth was setting into a firm, stubborn line that looked odd on such a young face. 

"I'll carry you," I said—it was that or let the argument get worse, as Shin'ou fought to spare his beloved Sage pain, and Geneus fought just as stubbornly not to be excluded from what we were doing. "That should hurt less." 

A pause. "Thank you, Shouri." 

"I can see that being with the two of you is going to take all my negotiating skills and then some," I said, bending down so that Geneus could get his arms around my neck. 

"A triad?" Murata adjusted his glasses, smiling crookedly. "I can see why you didn't want me to tell Shibuya that you were in a relationship with his brother. When he finds out about _this_ , he's going to flip." 

"I'd say that's only fair, considering how _I_ felt when I found out about him and Wolfram," I muttered. 

"We do not know yet whether this will be a lasting partnership," Geneus said quietly. "We hope for it, but there has not yet been enough time." 

I did my best to walk smoothly through the temple and out to the carriage, half-surprised that Amalie hadn't stopped us on the way out of the infirmary. By the time I sat down on the padded bench beside Murata, Geneus was asleep again, his face hidden against my chest, and he stayed that way through the entire carriage ride . . . somehow. Compared to a car, Shin Makoku's horse-drawn vehicles had crap for suspension, and you could feel every bump in the road. 

The courtyard was mostly empty when we arrived at Blood Pledge Castle, thankfully. The only person I recognized among the handful of guards and servants on their way from Point A to Point B was Dakaskos, and he took a look at us, blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then scurried off somewhere without even trying to ask questions. 

Once we were inside, things got easier. Murata knew every back hallway and disused stairway in the building, and so did Shin'ou and Geneus. They argued a bit from time to time about which direction to take, but we still got to Anissina's lab faster than I'd expected. 

The inventor was doing something arcane with what looked like a welding torch as we entered the room, and there was a dispirited-looking Gwendal with a metal band clamped around his head strapped to a chair in the corner nearest the window. Judging from the condition of the room, the large device Anissina was working on had already exploded at least once today. 

"Shouri-dono! And the Lord Sage! I don't suppose you would care to help me with—" 

"We're sorry for intruding, Lady von Karbelnikoff," Shin'ou said loudly from his perch on my shoulder. Gwendal's head snapped up, and he stared at us, frowning. "We just came to borrow something. Once we have it, we'll get out of your way." 

Anissina blinked. "Shin'ou . . . heika?" 

"In the flesh, or so I'd _like_ to say, but actually, I'm here to borrow some." 

Anissina seemed to be slightly in shock . . . which, in my opinion, wasn't entirely a bad thing. "Everything I have is at your disposal of course, Your Majesty, but what—" 

"Over here!" Murata called from where he was standing with one hand on a device that looked like an industrial heating plant trying to swallow a coffin, or something. 

I swallowed and forced myself to take the last few steps across the room. _Yuuri . . ._ He looked so small and helpless, lying inside that glass-topped box. They'd stripped him down and put him in some kind of blue-purple spandex-y body suit that made the contours of his body all too obvious to anyone glancing inside, and I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to rage at Anissina about the indignity. I knew she was doing the best she could, in her own peculiar way. 

Murata unlatched the lid and opened the coffin. Cold air poured out, and from behind me, Anissina said, "What are you doing?" 

Shin'ou jumped down from my shoulder onto Yuuri's chest. He positioned himself dead center, over the breastbone, sat down cross-legged, and bowed his head. Slowly, the human contours of his miniature body faded, leaving the round, white globe of an untethered soul. It hovered there for a moment against my brother's skin, then sank in. Yuuri's chest rose and fell—two deep breaths, three—and then his body opened its eyes and sat up. _Blue_ eyes, I noted uncomfortably. Well, it would make it easier to remember that Shin'ou was in there, anyway. 

Slowly, the dead king ran his borrowed hands over my brother's body, testing size and shape and contour. "A bit awkward and undersized," he said, cupping his crotch, "but I suppose I can live with it. Or improve it." 

"Oh no you don't," I said. "You promised, remember?" 

Shin'ou sighed. "I suppose I did." Hearing Yuuri's voice coupled with his inflections was . . . weird. "Being short and scrawny like this . . . doesn't really suit me." 

I bristled—I mean, it was _Yuuri's_ body he was insulting—but before I could say anything, Geneus' small fingers sealed my mouth. 

"He is nervous, Shouri, and acting like an idiot because of it," the child with the old, wise eyes said. "Do not take the bait, or he will become increasingly outrageous." 

Shin'ou heaved a sigh. "You know me too well. Now, will someone help me out of this box? It's as cold in here as a water-dragon's c—er, _tail_." 

Murata rolled his eyes, but he also offered Shin'ou a hand, and the latter stepped out onto the floor of the workroom, shivering. 

"So that really is His Majesty Shin'ou in there?" 

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Okay, so my attention had been elsewhere, but I was in danger if Anissina could sneak up on me under _any_ circumstances. 

"Can't you tell?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level. "Those aren't Yuuri's eyes, and he doesn't talk that way." 

"True enough," Anissina admitted. "I've never had a chance to observe the phenomenon before, that's all. I'd like to see if—" 

" _Anissina!_ " Gwendal snapped. It probably would have been more impressive if he hadn't still been strapped to a chair. "There are some experiments that even you shouldn't have the gall to try to perform." 

"Oh, Gwendal, calm down! I was just—" 

"We're going to need to borrow Gwendal too," Murata said. "I'm afraid it's kind of urgent." 

Anissina frowned. "Men. Always in a hurry. Very well, you can have him for now—it's going to be at least half an hour before I finish these adjustments." She leaned over and pressed a button on the wall, and the straps holding Gwendal to the chair all released at once. The grey-haired Mazoku ripped the metal band off his head and threw it on a nearby table. Then he started to unbutton his coat. I blinked. 

"Um . . . Lord von Voltaire?" 

"We can't allow our king to go wandering the halls dressed like that, and I believe Anissina sent his clothes down to be laundered." 

"Oh. Thanks." I was stuck saying it, because Shin'ou didn't seem to care, or maybe it would be more accurate to say that he seemed to be distracted. He was wandering around the room and almost compulsively touching . . . things. Stone walls. Furniture. Bits of Anissina's machines. Murata's butt, when he didn't get out of the way fast enough. Maybe I should have gotten pissed at him for feeling up someone who wasn't part of our triad, but there was something almost childlike about the way the dead king was acting that made it difficult for me to resent his actions. 

_Our triad._ I shook my head. _I guess it really is possible to get used to almost anything._ I didn't know what I would do without the two of them now, no matter how exasperating Shin'ou could be. They made me feel _wanted_ , for the first time since Yuuri had decided he was strong enough to go his own way, and it was wonderful—would have been wonderful even without the deep, solid warmth and the heady, fizzy feeling that went with being in love. 

Gwendal dropped his coat over Shin'ou's shoulders, and the god-king rubbed the edge of the garment between his fingers, testing the texture, before wrapping it more tightly around himself. He padded over to the door, and we all followed him—kept following him as he went along a hallway, around several corners, down two flights of stairs and up one more. We ended up in front of Gwendal's office, and at that point the big Mazoku pushed past us and went to hide behind his desk, as though he thought it was a tank with an automatic anti-Anissina system. 

Once seated, Gwendal cleared his throat. "Shin'ou-heika . . ." 

"We need a ship," Shin'ou said. 

"We've figured out where Yuuri's soul is, or at least where it's going to end up," Murata said—I guess he'd decided to take pity on poor Gwendal, whose eyes were starting to show a mixture of confusion and something that verged on panic. "We're going to go get it, but to pull that off we need to get to Rega as quickly as possible." 

I frowned. "Rega?" 

"We're not likely to find a captain here in Shin Makoku who's ever been all the way to Mbahata," Murata explained. "Rega is a trading port south of Svelera. We should be able to find a ship there that can take us the rest of the way." 

"The southern waters are treacherous," Geneus added. "There are large areas of shallows with shifting sandbars, and the breeding grounds for several species of sea serpent lie just off Mbahata itself. I would not enter the area unless the captain or pilot of the ship I was on had recent experience there." 

"And you are?" Gwendal rumbled, glancing sharply at the slender figure I was still holding in my arms. 

"You knew him as Geneus," Shin'ou said. "But in truth, he is my Sage, my Saïré, and you will treat him with the respect he deserves." 

The muscles around Gwendal's eye twitched, and he covered his face with his hands for just a moment. 

Murata picked that moment to say, "We'd like to borrow Lord Weller, too. And a healer. That is, assuming you intend to continue with this forced-aging idiocy," he added to Geneus. 

"I cannot do everything I need to do while I am limited by a child's body," Geneus said, and I felt him tremble almost subliminally against me. Angry. Well, I didn't blame him. _It isn't idiocy. The three of us need each other, and like this . . . it just doesn't work._

"A healer," Shin'ou repeated. "Lady Gisela, if she has no other particular obligations right now. I want him to have the best care possible." 

"She shouldn't have to go all the way to Mbahata with us," Murata added. "Just as far as Rega, and then she can return with the ship." 

Gwendal sighed. "I won't order Gisela to accompany you, but if she feels she's needed here, she should be able to suggest a replacement." Shin'ou frowned. Both Geneus and I glared at him, and his expression smoothed over, but I'm pretty sure there was a bit of regret in his eyes. "I'll talk to Lord Weller. We should have the ship ready by tomorrow." 

"Thanks," I said. 

Murata grabbed Shin'ou by the shoulder and began to steer him toward the door. "And now you are going to get properly dressed so that you can give Lord von Voltaire his coat back." 

"And we'll go to the infirmary to talk to Gisela," I said. _And make sure Geneus is still okay._


	13. Chapter 13

When we got to the infirmary, Gisela was leaning over the shoulder of a certain bald soldier and snarling. 

"You're _not sure_? Are you trying to tell me that they grew little legs and ran around the table while you were counting them? Start over!" 

"Yes, ma'am!" poor Dakaskos all but shouted. 

I cleared my throat, and Gisela did her disturbing Jekyll and Hyde act as she turned around. "Shouri-sama? Oh, how adorable!" She smiled at Geneus. "Is he your son?" 

"Not exactly," I said. "I don't think you've ever been properly introduced, though. Lady Gisela, this . . . is Geneus. Geneus, this is Lady Gisela von Christ, the Royal Healer. She's also Gunter's adoptive daughter." 

"Forgive me for not rising to bow," Geneus said with a wry smile that looked odd on such a young face. 

Gisela blinked several times. "I see. If I may ask . . . how?" 

I shrugged. "Shin'ou leant a hand." Which was true enough, if incomplete. "For the next few days, Geneus is going to need a healer's supervision, though. Which is kind of why we're here. You probably have some idea what's happened to Yuuri. We think we know where the people who stole his soul are headed, and we're going after them. But we need a healer to come with us on the first leg, to make sure that Geneus' body doesn't get damaged from forced aging. We figured that if you couldn't come yourself, you would at least be able to give us a recommendation . . ." 

Gisela smiled. "I'd be glad to come . . . so long as you aren't headed for Muckport or anywhere like that, that is." 

"Quite the opposite direction, fortunately," Geneus said. "You would be going as far as Rega. By the time we reach that city, I should no longer require a healer's services." 

"A trip to Rega sounds like a very good idea," the healer said. "There are a number of medicinal herbs I'm running low on that should be easier to get there. Dakaskos!" 

The unfortunate man jumped. "Yes, ma'am?" 

"You're counting pots of hemmenleaf salve next!" 

"Yes, ma'am!" 

At that moment, Murata poked his head through the doorway. "Are we interrupting anything?" 

"Of course n—" Gisela stopped in mid-sentence and blinked, once, then twice. "Your . . . Majesty?" 

"Told you the eyes weren't going to be enough for most people to tell us apart," Shin'ou said, smirking, as he stepped past Murata and into the room. 

"Anyone who knows Yuuri at all well also knows he wouldn't be caught dead in clothes like those," I said dryly. "What did you do—raid Wolfram's closet?" 

"His bottom drawer, actually," Murata said with a long-suffering expression. "I don't think even Lord von Bielefeld has ever worn these—actually, I'd bet Lady Celi gave them to him and they've been shoved in that bottom drawer ever since." 

I looked at Shin'ou again, and shook my head. The fitted dark green trousers were unexceptionable, but the frilly shirt with the lace-trimmed sleeves was more ridiculous even than the familiar ruffled garment that usually clothed Shin'ou's dead self, and the emerald green/sky blue/metallic gold brocade vest was . . . indescribable. Polished knee-high black riding boots, a sword belt with no attached sword, and a gold chain with an opal pendant the size of the top joint of my thumb completed the ensemble. 

"That vest will clash with Morgif's hilt wrappings," Geneus said. "Or do you not intend to bring him?" 

"If he's agreeable . . . which he may not be," Shin'ou admitted. "I'll have to have a talk with him, I suppose." 

"In case you haven't figured it out yet, Shin'ou invited himself along for the ride," I explained to Gisela, whose eyes widened. 

"I . . . see," the slender healer said. "This is going to be an interesting expedition, isn't it?" 

At that moment, Geneus tensed, and although he didn't let the least hint of it creep into his expression, I was certain he was in pain. I forced myself not to panic. "Lady Gisela—" 

She understood what I needed without requiring me to explain, and turned her attention to the precious burden in my arms, healing energy flaring about her hands. "Thigh bone growing too fast for the soft tissues around it," she said after a moment. "I'll loosen them for you . . . but you need to be more careful, Geneus-sama. If you insist on doing this to yourself, you must avoid distractions." 

"I am aware," Geneus murmured. "I am not about to cripple myself. That would be . . . most unwise," he added with a wry smile. 

"Still, this isn't like you," Shin'ou said, his expression darkening. 

"It's because his brain isn't full-sized yet." Murata shoved his glasses back up his nose, and tilted his head so that his eyes were concealed by the reflections off the lenses. "It's impairing his judgement a bit. Give him another two or three days." 

"You should leave him here, so that I can monitor him while I pack," Gisela added. 

I must have looked unhappy, because Geneus reached up and patted my face. "It will only be for a little while, beloved." 

My heart lurched inside me, and Gisela's eyes widened. They almost popped out of her head when Shin'ou took a step forward and wrapped his arms around us both. 

"Be more careful, please. I don't think I could bear to lose either of you." 

He tilted his face up toward me, and seemed disappointed when I said, "Sorry, but I'm not kissing you while you're wearing my brother's body—it would just be too freaky." 

"Spoilsport." 

"Someone needs to rein you in," I retorted. 

" _Yuuri!_ What the hell are you—" 

_Someone should keep him locked up,_ I thought as Wolfram came thundering through the door and stopped dead, staring, as Shin'ou turned to face him. 

"You . . . you're . . . Get out of Yuuri's body!" Fire crackled around Wolfram's upraised hand . . . but then Shin'ou raised _his_ hand, and the nascent fireballs drifted quietly over to him, butting lightly against his fingers, almost as though they were nuzzling him affectionately, before winking out. 

"So you think to wield my own element against me, on the very spot where I exchanged my pledges with the spirits of this land," Shin'ou said. "Not very smart." 

Wolfram glared at him. "I don't care if you _are_ Shin'ou-heika—there are some things that just aren't right! Why are you all taking this so _calmly_?" His glare drifted away from Shin'ou and fastened on me. 

"Because it means we'll get Yuuri back faster," I said firmly. "Shin'ou has my permission, as next-of-kin, to borrow his body, so long as he's careful with it. And you don't have any say—he isn't your husband yet." 

Wolfram . . . sputtered, I guess, but before he could gather himself for another attack, a hand reached in from behind and came to rest on his shoulder. 

"Calm down," Conrad said, his expression unusually serious. "I don't like this either, Wolfram, and I expect Shouri feels much the same . . . but kicking Shin'ou out of Yuuri's body isn't going to help." 

"But . . . Conrad . . ." 

"It's going to be all right." 

"We'll make it all right," I added. "I'm not abandoning Yuuri. I don't care if it takes the rest of my life—one way or the other, I'm going to get him back." I locked my eyes with Wolfram's, willing him to see my sincerity and believe me. "He's my brother, and I'm not going to let him down." 

Wolfram's expression softened for a moment. Then he frowned, snorted, and folded his arms. "Fine, then—but whatever you're doing, I want in on it." 

I bit back a curse. My brother's volatile fiance was the last person I wanted along on this, but I didn't see how we were going to get rid of him now. 

"You do realize we're going to be traveling by boat, right?" Murata said cheerily. "For around a month, total, without many stops along the way." 

Wolfram looked green just thinking about it . . . but then he gritted his teeth. "Lady Gisela has a good medicine for seasickness." 

"I'm sorry, Wolfram-sama, but that medicine becomes much less effective if you take it for more than a week or so." Gisela was smiling as she said that, but her expression clouded over as she continued to speak. "As a healer, I'm advising you not to go. When the sea gets choppy, you can't keep anything down. You could be severely debilitated by the time we reach Rega." 

Wolfram frowned. "Rega. That's . . . south?" 

"The gateway to the Spice Islands . . . and the Pirate Isles," Conrad said thoughtfully. "Gwendal told me what was going on, but not where the trail led." 

"Mbahata," Murata said. "East of the Spice Islands, in the middle of nowhere. It's mostly jungle and low-grade houseki deposits. Not a lot to recommend it, although of course even bad houseki is worth a lot of money to some people." 

Wolfram had gone green again as Murata had spoken the word _houseki_. 

"So you see, Lord von Bielefeld, you would be a liability to us, and to your fiance," Shin'ou said. "I forbid you to accompany us." 

The blonde's jaw dropped. " _You_ forbid—" 

"Have you forgotten who I am?" In his own body, Shin'ou probably did "grim and regal" pretty well, but the same expression on Yuuri's face looked kind of off. 

"Shin'ou . . . heika . . ." The expression on Wolfram's face was easily interpretable as "oh, _shit_." But then it changed into something implacable. "No. I won't. Yuuri . . . is more important than obeying you." Suddenly he was turning emerald-green puppy-dog eyes on me. "Isn't he, _oniichan_?" 

"You aren't married to my brother yet," I snapped, somehow managing not to flush. Wolfram could be damned cute when he wanted to be. 

Geneus squeezed my arm with a small hand, and I shook my head. Cute was nice enough, I told myself, but I hadn't lost my heart to cute. I'd lost it to a sweet, weary smile and graceful hands and a mind sharp enough to cut . . . to a forceful personality and eyes the colour of the summer sky. 

If it had been _their_ lives, _their_ souls, at stake, would I have been able to stay behind? 

"Okay," I said. "If you really love him, it's your right, I guess. Gisela, you'll be monitoring him as well as Geneus on the way out. Sorry." 

"I'll manage," the healer said. 

No one seemed to know what to say for a few seconds after that. 

"I came here to find Shouri-dono." Conrad was the one who finally filled in the silence. "He needs some less conspicuous clothes." 

"And we're all going to need a round of hair dye," Murata said. "I'll see if I can dig up a couple of different shades—it would look kind of odd if all four of us matched." 

"Given the small number of dyes effective on black hair, we will still be brown, brown, brown, and brown," Geneus murmured sleepily. 

I looked down at him. "We need to put you to bed." 

"Over there," Gisela said, pointing at an empty cot. "I'll watch over him, I promise." 

"Thank you." It tore at me to say it, though—tore at me to lay Geneus gently down on the mattress and smooth the blankets over him. He was mostly asleep already, but his small hand lingered on my arm until I straightened up and lifted it beyond his reach. 

"So now you'll finally be able to get back at me for borrowing your favourite shirt," Conrad said with a smile as we left the infirmary. 

I snorted. "I don't really blame you for that, you know. Mom should have known better. Besides, do you _have_ a favourite shirt?" 

Conrad nodded. "Ironically, it's one that I picked up in Cimaron while I was trying to get the Boxes away from Belal. I would have lost it if Josak hadn't had the presence of mind to grab my saddlebags after I got myself shot full of arrows out near Francia. Do you realize that we're being followed?" 

"What?" I turned and looked over my shoulder . . . and there was Shin'ou, with a familiar smirk plastered across his face. "What are _you_ doing here?" 

"Well, I may not be able to kiss you under these circumstances, but I can at least ogle you while you try clothes on—surely you can't object to _that_." 

I shrugged. "Conrad and I are so close in size that I'm probably _not_ going to be trying much of anything on, but you can watch as much as you like . . . so long as you keep your hands out of your pants." 

Conrad cleared his throat. "Shouri . . . am I correct in understanding . . . you and Geneus-dono _and_ Shin'ou-heika?" 

I flushed. "Yeah." 

"You're . . . a very fortunate man." 

"You're thinking I'm out of my mind," I said, and he didn't deny it. "Sometimes I think I am too, but it feels so good and so right . . . I never even realized how lonely I was before." 

"As I said, a very fortunate man." 

Conrad's room was surprisingly difficult to get to, at the back of Blood Pledge Castle, opening off a corridor that could only be accessed by a narrow flight of stairs. There might have been another way in at one point, but the far end of the hall had been walled off with stone that didn't quite match the rest of the well-weathered grey granite. 

Conrad must have caught my questioning glance in the direction of the end-wall, because he said, "Anissina." 

I blinked. "Oh." I wasn't about to ask what she had done that had resulted in a wall being put there, because I was fairly sure I didn't want to know. 

The room itself was smaller than I'd expected, or maybe it just looked that way. Somehow Conrad had crammed in a table almost the size of the one in Yuuri's office, along with a big bed and a wardrobe and some shelves and a couple of armchairs. The table itself was old and scarred and strewn with some of the damndest things, like a nasty-looking dagger sitting on top of a baseball glove that looked like it was in the process of having its seams re-stitched. There was some other stuff that I think was part of a horse harness, and even more whose origins and use I had no idea about. I was pretty sure that the size-thirteenish stiletto-heeled boot belonged to Josak, though. It was certainly too big for Conrad. 

"I learned basic leatherwork from my father when I was a child, and I find that repairing things relaxes me." 

I sighed. _Guess I must be pretty transparent._ "So what do people from this world wear on a trip to the tropics?" 

"We'll buy something better-suited to hot-weather wear in Rega. These will just be to hold you for the first day or so after we get there." Conrad rummaged through the wardrobe for a moment, then dumped an armful of clothing on the bed. "Try this," he said, holding up a blue jacket. "It's a bit tight through the upper arms on me now, but it might fit you. If so, you can keep it." 

"I'm holding out for your favourite shirt," I retorted. Shin'ou, who had parked himself in a corner by the door, seemed disappointed when I took the jacket anyway and tried it on. It seemed to be made out of heavy linen rather than wool, and the sleeves were snug, but not uncomfortable. "Fits well enough, I guess." 

"And it looks good on you." I expected Conrad to reach for something else, a pair of pants or a shirt, but instead he hesitated for a long moment, then said, "Shouri, if I may ask, why did you want me along?" 

"That was Murata's idea, actually," I said. 

"You didn't disagree with him, though, or Gwendal would have mentioned it." 

"No, I didn't," I admitted, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I would have thought it was kind of obvious, actually. Murata and I aren't physical fighters, and I don't think Geneus is much of one either—well, okay, I know a bit of judo, thanks to Bob, but my knowledge of swordplay is pretty much limited to the fact that you want to hold onto the handle end and stick the point in the other guy. Shin'ou _does_ know one end of a sword from the other, but he's in an unfamiliar body, and I'm afraid he might end up making an error of judgement." I gave the subject of that last sentence a sidelong glance, but he was still merely listening, rather than protesting. 

"With Yuuri's body." 

My glasses had been sliding down my nose, and I pushed them back up. "Exactly. And if we lose his body, there's no point in getting Yuuri's soul back. So we need you to stick with him while we work on the real problem." I gave Shin'ou a Look. "And if you try to give him the slip, you'll be sleeping alone for the rest of eternity, even in dreams." 

The dead king held up his hands. "I don't pretend to like it, but I do understand the necessity. I like the way this body looks, but it isn't nearly as strong as . . . my old one, and it has less reach. If I get angry enough, I really might make an error of judgement, as you so carefully put it." 

_One less problem._ The thought made me relax, just a little. "Thanks. Both of you. Now, let's get me a shirt and a pair of pants," I added to Conrad. And although I didn't actually say it, I intended to try them on, too. Since Shin'ou was being such a good boy, I was going to give him an eyeful, and pretend not to notice if he did stick his hand down his trousers.


	14. Chapter 14

Someone was shaking me. Not hard, but I could feel a slender hand pushing and pulling at my shoulder as I slowly rose out of sleep. _Is this my bed?_ It didn't feel quite right . . . 

"Shouri. Shouri!" A child's voice, and yet somehow . . . not. _Huh? Wha . . . ?_

My eyes flew open, left hand automatically fishing for my glasses. Blurry moonlit room with a window bigger than that of my room at home, blurry canopy above the bed— _oh, right, I'm in Shin Makoku_ —and a not-so-blurry face, pale-skinned and framed in pure darkness. 

"Geneus?" I muttered, fingers finding my glasses at last and fumbling them into place on my nose. "What time is it?" 

"After moonrise," came the quiet reply. "Perhaps the fourth hour of the night. I must admit that I did not stop to consult a clock. I apologize for waking you, but there is something I must do before we leave, and I require the assistance of someone who has maryoku to spare." 

I sighed and sat up. "You could have done whatever-it-is this afternoon, you know." 

"Not without an audience, and forging an elemental contract is a private matter between oneself, one's Intercessor, and the Spirits." 

I frowned. _An elemental contract . . . like mine with water? But I thought . . ._ "Aren't you already linked to earth?" 

Geneus shook his head. "The contract affects the body as well as the mind and the soul, and this body has never been through the ceremony. I do not require the link in order to heal, which, in a twisted sort of way, is what forced aging is, but from here we will be going into danger. And if I do not forge the compact tonight, my next opportunity will be in Rega, where the Spirits are much weaker." 

"I don't remember any ceremony," I said, but I was already sliding my legs over the edge of the bed. "All I had to do was drink a bowl of water. From what I understand, it was pretty much the same for Yuuri." Thankfully, someone had found pajamas for me—I wasn't sure if they were Conrad's, and I hadn't asked—and a robe. I belted it on quickly, because I was cold. Geneus was wearing something similar, although the moonlight didn't do more than sketch in the details. 

"That is only the second half of the ceremony. The first part—the charging of the substance the Initiate is to consume—was not done in your presence." 

"And that's what you want me for, right? Does Gisela know where you are?" Belatedly, additional synapses, initially sleep-frozen, were coming on-line. 

"She was called away to a minor emergency at the barracks. I informed her aide that I intended to seek you out." 

Well, that was . . . better than I had hoped, really. And as I'd learned over the years with Yuuri, I would probably get the frail figure in front of me back to bed more quickly by cooperating than arguing. "What do we need to do?" 

I was rewarded with a sweet smile. "Go outside, first of all. The initial invocation must be performed under the open sky. The gardens should be good enough." 

That meant tiptoeing along a hallway—not that we didn't have every right to visit any public area of Blood Pledge Castle, but I didn't want to have to explain why I was running around in the middle of the night with a small child—down a staircase, and out a side door. The air at this hour of the night was cool and crisp, and the moon, nearly full, added its light to that spilling from the torches in the gallery around the edge of the garden courtyard. 

Geneus led me over to the fountain and pulled himself up to sit on the edge, legs dangling. He reached into his pocket and produced what looked like a leaf stolen from the salad that had been served as part of dinner. And a salt shaker. 

He must have seen my look of utter becrogglement as he looked up at me. "Salt is the only type of stone that people normally consume," he explained. "The lettuce leaf is irrelevant, but useful in getting down the quantity of salt required. Truly, I consider myself fortunate that my affinity is to earth—those bound to fire must swallow a live coal, and it is . . . difficult to find anything effective to wrap that in." 

I winced. _No wonder Wolfram has such a horrible temper—he probably has burn scars all the way down the inside of his throat._

Geneus popped the top off the salt shaker and poured the contents onto the lettuce, where they sat in a glittering pile at least a centimetre high. 

"Cup your hands over that, and relax your hold on your maryoku," he told me, and I obeyed. "Now, I need you to repeat . . ." I nodded, and he continued, "'Spirits of earth and stone . . . who nourish and support the world . . . I request your acknowledgment . . . of the one who will take this into himself . . .'" At each pause, I repeated the words he had just spoken, and I could feel . . . something happening. Little tingly shivers against the surface of my mind, and the pile of salt seemed to have developed the faintest of glows. There was even a hint of movement swirling around it, half-seen out of the corner of my eye, vanishing when I tried to look at it straight on. 

"Enough," Geneus said after we had both contemplated the salt in silence for a moment. I lifted my hands away, and he picked up the leaf and began to fold it around the salt. Somehow, he turned it into a green packet the size of the top joint of my index finger without spilling even one grain. Then he put it in his mouth, chewed twice, grimaced, and swallowed. 

There was a ripple in the stillness of the night, something that I didn't understand and couldn't have described in any useful way. Geneus slid down off the edge of the fountain and knelt to place the palm of one hand flat against the ground. 

"The link is forged," he said after a moment. "Thank you, Shouri." 

"You're welcome," I said, and then almost swore as he shivered. "Look, we need to get you back inside where it's warm. The last thing you need to do is catch a cold." I crouched down and spread my arms, silently offering something that I knew he might not want to take advantage of, and I was a little embarrassed for him when he stepped forward and put his arms around my neck. The Geneus I remembered had been quietly frustrated with his physical weakness. He never spoke of it, but I'd been able to see the way his spine stiffened whenever he had to rely on the support of the other White Crows. Maybe knowing it was temporary made a difference. 

He was already asleep, still clinging to me, when we arrived at the infirmary. Gisela, back from the barracks, snorted softly when she saw us but didn't actually say anything as I laid Geneus back down on the cot in the corner and gently covered him up. 

"Sleep well," I told him, smoothing a stray lock of hair back from his face. "We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." 

He didn't wake up at all the next day, not even when I wrapped him back up in his robe and carried him out to the carriage that would take us to the port. We shared the interior with Gisela and Murata, while Conrad and Wolfram and Shin'ou rode. And if our blue-eyed sometime lover ended up saddle-sore, well, that would serve him right. 

"Did you ever do anything about hair dye, friend-of-my-brother?" The question just about echoed inside the carriage, but it was too damned quiet in there, with Geneus asleep and the rest of us frowning at nothing. 

"I was able to find three different kinds, Shibuya's-big-brother—in shades of brown, brown, and brown, as he said." Murata nodded at the slumbering Geneus. "I have three sets of dragon-scale contacts, too." 

I grimaced—I mean, I wear glasses because I don't _like_ contacts, but I saw the necessity in this case. "How easily does the dye wash out?" 

"It depends. You can set it in using vinegar—or another mild acid, I guess, but vinegar's easiest to come by. Once you do that, soap and water won't touch it, and you need more vinegar to get it out . . . unless you have a tendency to go into Maoh Mode, that is. You do stink for a couple of hours after using it, though," he added with a smirk. "I'd suggest we wait until we're a day or so out from Rega to colour ourselves up, to minimize the number of times we have to redo it to cover the roots." 

"So that barrel tied to the back of the carriage is . . ." 

Murata's smirk widened. "Exactly: the purest vinegar I could find." 

Beside me on the seat, Geneus frowned, shifted, and uncurled slightly. Groping blindly, with his eyes shut, he pulled himself a little closer to me and laid his head in my lap. He sighed softly and drifted back down into deeper sleep with his nose pressed against my hip. 

"He really is cute," Gisela said. "It's difficult to believe, seeing him like this, that he's the Great Sage." 

Murata opened his mouth to say something. I shot him a dirty look. 

"All I was going to say, Shibuya's-big-brother, is that I was a cute kid, too. I even have the photos to prove it!" His expression went more serious then, and he added, "I'm not going to fight with Geneus over the title of 'Great Sage'. It's more important to him than it is to me. Actually, if you two can take over the job of keeping Shin'ou under control and _finally_ get me off the hook, I'll be grateful." 

"You aren't in love with Shin'ou anymore?" I'd been curious about that for a while now, ever since I'd first dreamed the Original Sage's memories. 

Murata shook his head. "My feelings about him are complicated, but I have exactly zero romantic or sexual attraction toward him in this lifetime. Even the memories are . . . kind of like something that's been worn smooth by being handled too often. They don't inspire strong emotion anymore. Four thousand years is just too long, I guess, even if two thousand isn't yet . . . or maybe there's less of our former self in Ken Murata than there is in Geneus." He grimaced, rubbing his forehead. "I want to be _me_ , not a man forty centuries dead, and if Geneus is happy taking up that life again, I wish him well." 

"Just making sure," I said. "It's complicated enough with three of us—and no offense, friend-of-my-brother, but I don't find you attractive at all." Which was a bit odd, but . . . _I guess two thousand years really does make a difference._

"Don't worry, Shibuya's-big-brother—the feeling's mutual. I'm hoping to convince Shibuya to invite more of Shin Makoku's eligible young noblewomen to the Winter Ball this year. Maybe I'll find someone interesting." 

"You could always have a fling with Lady Celi," I suggested flippantly. 

Murata shuddered. "No thank you! I mean, she's an attractive woman, but I do _not_ want to end up as Wolfram's stepfather." 

That thought was almost enough to make me shudder too, but that would have disturbed Geneus. 

The silence was starting to build again, so I asked, "What's Rega like?" 

"Now? I have no idea. The last time I was there was eight hundred years ago. You've probably already gotten more from those books you've been reading." 

"Those books claim it's built inside a volcanic caldera that's partially collapsed into the ocean," I protested. 

"Well, okay, that part I can confirm: I was part of the team that used houjutsu to dredge the original channel through the reefs, around three thousand years ago. But it's more accurate to say that it's built up the sides of the caldera. You'll see." 

"Shouri-dono, if I may . . . I'm more curious about your world than about Rega," Gisela said. "In particular, I'd like to know what medicine there is like." 

That conversation carried us all the way to the harbour, although there were times I wished I could have stoppered my ears—not only had one of Murata's fairly recent incarnations had a background in medicine, but I got the impression that he spent a lot of time reading about new developments in the field on-line, and, well, his descriptions sometimes got pretty gruesome. Gisela seemed fascinated by what he had to say, though. 

It was almost noon when the carriage finally rolled to a stop above a pier. Murata and Gisela got out first, and I scooped up Geneus, who nuzzled at my shoulder but didn't seem inclined to wake. I was pretty sure he was a good inch taller than he had been when we'd started out, but that was all to the good. Even if it also meant he was ten pounds heavier. _Doesn't that violate the Law of Conservation of Mass, or something?_

"Nice lines," Murata said, and I gave him a suspicious glance . . . but it turned out he was looking at the ship that was waiting for us. "She'll be quick. We might even catch up with the soul-thieves at Rega." 

"She's a merchant ship, not a naval vessel," Shin'ou said, frowning down from his horse's back. 

"So?" I said. "Were you intending to start a war along the way?" 

"I was thinking of _pirates_ ," the dead king said, sliding down off his horse and handing the reins to Dakaskos, who had been playing coachman. 

"With a rig like that, she should be able to run away from any pirates who show up," Murata said. "They tend to use more substantial ships, so that they have enough cargo space to hold whatever they steal. I'd guess that our ride spends most of her time hauling high-value, low-volume semi-perishables, like spices or medicines or mail." Or important passengers, presumably. 

We were given private cabins of a sort, windowless, thin-walled things that Murata claimed had been created out of what was normally hold-space. The one Geneus and I were to share smelled of cinnamon and cloves and something else that I couldn't immediately identify. 

I laid my black-haired lover, in his fragile child's body, down on the lower of our two bunks, then fished a book out of my luggage and sat down beside him. 

There was nothing to do now but wait.


	15. Chapter 15

"Like this," Conrad said, demonstrating the cut yet again. "Watch what I'm doing with my knee, and my shoulder." 

"You'd think you could at least get this right," Wolfram added with a sniff. He looked a bit green around the gills despite the heroic quantities of seasickness medicine Gisela had him consuming, but that hadn't been enough to make him beg off the lesson in swordsmanship. "The wimp got it on his first try." 

I ignored him and watched. Shoulder back a little, yes, knee swinging outward as the foot moved to brace . . . I tried it again, my eyes on my instructor's face. 

"Better," my future brother-in-law's brother said, and I could tell from his expression that it really was. "Let's take a break." 

My actual future brother-in-law sniffed again, and said to his older sibling, "My turn, then." 

I propped my blunt practice sword against a coil of rope, and sat down on the thick hemp, squirming a little as I tried to get comfortable. Conrad had dumped me on my ass a half-dozen times again this morning, so I had bruises as well as aching muscles. 

"I'm never going to get the hang of this," I muttered. 

"Oh, I don't know." I'd gotten almost used to hearing Yuuri's voice with Shin'ou's inflections, and seeing blue eyes in my brother's face. "You seem to be getting a decent grasp of the basics, and not everyone we run into is going to be skilled. And if I didn't know how recently you'd started learning, and saw you standing there glowering at me with a sword in your hand, I doubt I'd want to call your bluff." 

I snorted. "I don't think I'm that scary." 

"Mmh. Not scary, exactly. But you do have this way of looking intense and focused that matches the way some of the best swordsmen I'd known look at their opponents. Lord Weller does it too, when he goes up against someone who's actually at his own skill level." 

"Like he was doing with you earlier?" 

"Right before he dumped me on my rump beside you, you mean?" Shin'ou sighed. "I'm still not used to having so little reach." He fingered the hilt of the plain steel sword hanging at his hip absently. I was kind of grateful, just then, that he'd ended up leaving Morgif behind, because I didn't think I could have taken the demon sword's moaning backchat. Instead, the only thing that filled the momentary silence was Wolfram's yelp as Conrad dropped him on _his_ rump. Which had to represent some kind of cosmic justice. 

"Gisela says that Geneus will probably wake up later today," I said, trying to head off Shin'ou's self-pitying mood. 

"Finally." 

I felt my mouth draw itself into an involuntary smile. "Yeah." 

Things just weren't the same without the third member of our triad. In the week since we'd boarded the ship, Shin'ou had only once pulled me into a dream, and although we'd made love there, there had once again been that clear sense of something missing. But according to Gisela, Geneus's "sleep" was really a trace state he was using to regulate his body's functions, and unnecessarily drawing his attention elsewhere would have been a Really Bad Idea. 

"He'll be just in time to help us broach that barrel of vinegar," Shin'ou said with a smirk. 

I snorted. "You really enjoy rubbing things like that in, don't you?" 

"Saïré seldom gave me an honest reaction unless he was surprised or annoyed . . . or so transported with passion that he forgot himself. Even you sometimes make it difficult for me to see your heart, but you don't have your guard up all the time the way he does." 

"Maybe you just need to improve your people-reading skills." 

This time, Shin'ou was the one who snorted. "I don't think anyone, including Saïré himself, is good enough to read past that kind of mask. Did you know that I've never seen him cry? Not in our original lifetime or in any of his lives since . . . at least not the ones where I knew where he was and was able to keep an eye on him. Even when I showed him . . . how bad it had gotten . . . he just smiled and promised to see our plan through to the end." He touched his arm, and shuddered. 

I deliberately reached over and put my hand on top of his. "It's over now. The Originators are gone for good." 

"Sorry—it's a difficult memory to exorcise, that's all." 

"I guess it would be, although I can't imagine what it must have been like." 

"And you never will," Shin'ou said firmly. "If anything like that ever happens again—if it looks like there's even the least risk—I'll—" 

"It won't," I interrupted. "Never again." _You've given up enough—not just your kingdom, but your very life—and I'm_ not _going to let_ that _happen again. Not ever._ "Why don't we check on Geneus?" I aimed a quick glance at Conrad, who was holding up the base of a mast with his arms folded in his best don't-mind-me manner, half-watching Wolfram as the blonde muttered and practiced the same lunge-step-cut sequence over and over again. The older of the two dissimilar brothers gave me a slight nod, which hopefully meant that he didn't mind cutting the lesson in swordsmanship short. 

Shin'ou absently conjured up an apple-sized ball of fire which floated over his shoulder as we made our way down to the makeshift cabins in the hold, shedding more light than the lanterns that swung overhead. It was kind of odd, really, that he was able to work with his own element so easily despite being in Yuuri's body. Fire focused through a water-user . . . maybe whatever it was that the elemental binding ceremony did to a person's body wasn't element-specific? Majutsu could be weird. 

The door to the cabin I'd been sharing with Geneus was open, and we could hear the sounds of a soft conversation through it. I stepped inside to discover Geneus sitting on the bottom bunk, holding a half-eaten bowl of this morning's porridge, while Gisela sat on a flimsy wooden chair, keeping him company. 

"Shouri, Magnus . . ." Geneus' smile as he saw us was warm, and his eyes glittered with light. Really, he looked better than I'd ever seen him look before, at least in real life. Oh, maybe he was still a bit thin, but I was sure he would fill out quickly and regain the lithely muscular build I remembered from my dreams. 

"Welcome back," I said, and sat down beside him. "You have oatmeal on your chin, you know," I added, and reached out to wipe it away with my thumb. Before I could pull my hand back, he turned his head slightly and his tongue darted out to cleanse my skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gisela cover her mouth with her hand, and Shin'ou, seating himself on Geneus' far side on the bed, was smiling wistfully. Geneus must have noticed that, because he leaned over and gave my brother's body a quick peck on the cheek. 

"It is good to be back," he said. "In more ways than one." The look he turned on me then was . . . distinctly heated, and I put my hands in my lap and told myself that Gisela was a healer and should be able to consider the idea of a man getting an erection with clinical detachment. 

"You're just in time to do your own dye job," Shin'ou added. "I'm told we'll be arriving in Rega around mid-morning tomorrow." 

"Just as well that I woke, then. Had I relied on you for the dye, you likely would have given me freckles." 

Shin'ou smirked. "It might have made you blend in a bit better. You have to admit that you don't easily pass for human, Saïré." 

"Were I that worried, I would have arranged to obtain a Spice Islander's mask and a feather skirt." 

"You still don't realize how beautiful you are." 

"He's right, you know," I said before Geneus could frown. "Your appearance is . . . striking, and not just because of your colouring. You're gorgeous." 

A soft snort. "Fortunately, beauty is not uniquely the province of Mazoku. It will be fine, I promise." 

"So I don't get to see you in a feather skirt?" Shin'ou asked in a wistful tone . . . but with a big grin on his face. Geneus sighed. 

"If you obtain one, I will consider modeling it for you. _Privately._ " 

" _Completely_ privately?" I asked. 

"He has been corrupting you, I see. Naturally, 'privately' includes all three of us." 

_Naturally._ It took quite some effort to keep the goofy grin off my face. 

Something out in the hallway rumbled, and a moment later, I heard Murata's voice. "Hey, are all three of you in there? We're going to do this in a corner of the hold." And the acrid smell of vinegar wafted through the open door. 

Shin'ou smiled and ran his knuckles lightly along Geneus' cheekbone. "We'll give you a proper welcome back tonight. In the meanwhile, finish eating and then come and join us." 

"Yes, Shin'ou-heika," the Sage said, but he was smiling too. 

It took us the rest of the afternoon to deal with the dye. Getting everyone's eyebrows required a lot of messing around with little bits of sponge, but it wasn't a step we could leave out if we wanted this to be convincing. Well, actually, we skipped Geneus' eyebrows, since everyone agreed that he should use the darkest of the three dyes, but having to deal with his waist-length hair more than made up for it. We all growled at Murata when he suggested cutting it off, though. 

By supper, Shin'ou and I had reddish-brown hair, Murata had sort of green-brown-khaki hair that looked to me like the bad dye job it was, and Geneus had hair the colour of dark chocolate. We all reeked of vinegar, despite several attempts to rinse it off with sea water. At least we'd proven that the dye wouldn't run. And I don't think any of us could actually smell the stuff anymore by bedtime—thankfully, because otherwise Geneus and I would have kept each other awake all night. 

He was already in bed when I returned to the cabin, and I thought he was asleep again, but when I reached for the first rung of the ladder that would have allowed me to climb to the upper bunk, a pale hand closed around my wrist, and I looked down into alert black eyes. 

"Join me?" asked the soft voice. "I understand why you do not want Magnus here at the moment—nor would all three of us fit on such a narrow mattress—but I had hoped that you, at least, would . . ." The words trailed off again, as though he wasn't comfortable finishing the sentence, but he flipped the corner of the blankets on the lower bunk back invitingly. 

_He wants to be held._ The realization startled me a bit. I guess I'd never thought of Geneus as needing human contact—the man whose memories I'd relived had trained himself not to want that kind of closeness. 

I offered him a smile. "All you had to do was ask. Scoot back against the wall for a bit, so that I have enough space to sort myself out without falling on the floor." 

We ended up on our sides, facing each other, with his head pillowed on my upper arm and his arm loosely wrapped around my waist. As I drifted off to sleep with my nose a couple of centimeters from the crown of his head, I could smell a hint of green tea and vanilla under the vinegar. And the smell of vinegar faded, while the others strengthened, until I opened my eyes to find myself on a familiar bed in a large stone-walled room. Geneus raised his head and blinked once, slowly, at the room, and then at Shin'ou, in his proper body, propped on one elbow on the other half of the bed. 

"I was starting to wonder if the two of you had developed insomnia," the blonde said, with that familiar smirk. 

"Always so impatient," Geneus said, with a crooked smile. 

"Well, of _course_ —we've been waiting for you for over a week, and I have the worst case of blue balls I've experienced since I came of age!" 

"As I said: impatient." 

Shin'ou inclined his head. "Alright, then, I'm impatient." He leaned over and kissed us—Geneus first, then me. "It's been torture, my loves, having you so nearby and yet not being able to be _with_ you . . . I'm starting to regret having borrowed Yuuri's body. I should have shifted a few people around until I got a body that wasn't related to either of you." 

I punched his arm—not hard, but hard enough to get his attention. "Behave yourself. Playing musical souls for your convenience would have been evil, and you know it." 

The blonde shrugged. "The benevolent deity thing does get old sometimes, you know . . . but we're not here tonight to talk about me. Saïré . . . what would you like? Ask for anything, and we'll do our best to provide." 

"I am not in the mood for anything exotic. Just . . . hold me. Touch me. Remind me that there is a place in this world where I belong, and people that I belong with." 

I felt a subliminal tremble pass through him: apprehension. The deepest part of him was still the man who had barely escaped being stoned to death by a group of merchants, and every time he asked for something, every time he made himself even the least bit vulnerable, that part of him expected not just rejection, but a violent attack. _And I'd bet that Murata still has some of that nibbling at him too. That's why he acts like such a goof: everyone loves a clown._

"I can't think of anything I'd enjoy more," I said, and kissed him on the forehead. I began to work my way slowly down his front, lingering on the areas that drew soft noises of pleasure from him—his lips, of course, but also his throat just above the adam's apple, and the hollow of his collarbone. Shin'ou had scooted in and was doing the same to his back, causing more shivers and soft cries. 

I mapped his chest slowly with my lips and my fingers, darting back up as I stroked his nipples with my thumbs to bite down on the skin over his collarbone. The mark would be gone when we woke, but the instinct that had taken hold of me just then didn't care about that. It just wanted everyone who saw us to know that I had a claim on this beautiful man. 

The muscles of his stomach trembled as I blew across his navel, and I found myself smiling, imagining the shivery feeling of touch and breath. 

I paused when I reached the point at which his legs and torso met, mouth suddenly going dry. Despite everything I'd done with the two of them so far, I'd never actually handled another man's cock except in dreams of someone else's memories, and while I found I was comfortable with the idea, there was still an oddness to it. A year ago, if someone had told me that I would want to touch another guy's junk, or even _consider_ putting it in my mouth, I would have punched him in the face and then gone to find somewhere to throw up, but now . . . now I found my mouth watering as I looked at the thick length of pale flesh that contrasted so sharply with the black curls in which its base nestled. 

"Shouri, you do not have to—" 

I touched Geneus' lips, silencing him. "I want to," I told him, and saw light flare in his eyes. "Just considering plans of attack. You're _big_." 

I curled my hands gently around it, feeling the softness of the skin, stroking it a bit before drawing it upward towards my mouth. I lapped tentatively at the leaking head, and my tongue reported bitter-salt- _Geneus_ -delicious. Long-fingered hands tangled themselves in my hair as I opened my mouth and began to take him in. 

Only a sword swallower could have handled all of him, but I did the best I could without choking myself, and used my hands on the rest as I suckled. I'd expected to enjoy giving him pleasure, but I hadn't known that it would be such a turn-on. Every soft, involuntary noise, every twitch, every tug at my hair awoke a response between my legs. 

"Sh- _ouri_ , I am going to—Ah! _Ahhh!_ " 

I swallowed, hard and fast, as he pulsed against my tongue, and succeeded in drinking most of him down. A bit did escape to trickle from the side of my mouth, but at least I didn't choke. And when I disengaged from him, he pulled me up and kissed me, licking away the sticky trail along my cheek. 

We rested for a while, kissing and cuddling . . . although I was starting to have some sympathy for Shin'ou's complaints about blue balls. It took a lot of control to keep from rutting against anything that brushed me between waist and knees—Geneus's thigh, the silken sheets, or a certain blonde's teasing hand, it didn't matter which. 

Then Geneus' hand slid down between my thighs, cupping me for just a second, testing. "Shouri, I believe I would like to have you inside me." 

I just about lost it and came all over him when I heard those words, imagining the clench of his body. It took me a moment to pull myself together. "And I'd like to be inside you—but I might not last long." 

A wry smile. "I may not either." 

And on Geneus' far side, Shin'ou rolled over onto his stomach and used both hands to spread his ass. I wasn't sure whether that was supposed to be a request or just an offer—maybe even a demand, considering the source—but Geneus' smile widened and he rose onto his knees. He positioned himself above Shin'ou, then turned to look at me. It took me a moment to grasp what he wanted, but then I crawled over and knelt behind him. I spread him, and, finding the damp, pink pucker that I'd never actually seen before, began to push my way inside. 

He was tighter than Shin'ou, and the thrust seemed to go on forever as he simultaneously slid into the blonde, moving only a little slower than me. The heat of him, the gentle squeeze of his muscles as we finally bottomed out . . . they were more than I had ever imagined. Enough to drive a man insane, but we were all half-crazy already. 

I let him set the pace of our movement, putting my concentration into not coming as his body shifted around my cock. His movements were quick and hard, forward into Shin'ou, back onto me, as he made the soft sounds I thought were the sexiest thing in the world, although I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to bring myself to tell him so. Shin'ou was less inhibited, crying out with every thrust as though urging us to give him _more_ and _faster_ and _harder_ . . . and Geneus somehow obliged him, with a push so hard that Shin'ou's entire body skidded a little way across the silk sheet. The blonde king screamed and came, his massive cock going off like a fountain. He must have squeezed down hard on Geneus, because the dark Sage moaned and tensed and clenched his body around me, and that was the last straw: I came too, moaning something that would probably have been embarrassing if it hadn't been in such a scrambled mixture of languages that not even I had any idea what it meant. 

Something tickled my back as I rested afterwards, leaning forward over Geneus, and I reached up and rubbed at the itchy spot, discovering a powdery substance under my fingers. I brought a bit of it around in front of me and rubbed it, considering. It was pale grey, but left dark marks on my skin, and smelled faintly of . . . burning? _Is this ash?_

Geneus must have noticed it too, because even as I sat back on my heels, he was saying, "It has been quite some time since I last saw you react with enough enthusiasm to scorch the bed hangings—and yet, you claimed that tonight was for me!" 

"You know that I'm a supreme opportunist." Shin'ou was still face-down, but I could hear his smirk even if I couldn't see it. 

I licked my lips. "Um, nothing burned in the real world, did it?" 

Geneus muttered a curse. "It is not impossible. We had best go check." 

We woke to the smell of vinegar . . . and smoke. I pushed myself out of bed, strode out into the hallway, yanked a water dragon up over the side of the ship and through the open door that protected the hall from the weather. Pulling it down the stairs, I opened the door to Shin'ou's cabin, sent it inside, and thoroughly doused the walls, floor, ceiling, bed, and occupant, leading to indignant sputtering noises. 

"Serves you right," I told the occupant heartlessly. It looked like the straw-stuffed mattress of the bunk had been the primary source of the smoky smell, but there were scorch marks on the wall and ceiling, too. "The boat isn't made of stone, you know. You could have killed all of us." 

Shin'ou, dyed hair plastered to his skull, scowled and muttered something. 

"You may be able to resist fire, but the swim would have killed you, had you been forced to make it," Geneus said from behind me. "We are hours from land, if you will recall. Shouri, as a water-wielder, might have survived if he had escaped the original conflagration, but the need to save his brother's body would have put him at extreme risk as well." 

"Actually, I don't swim all that well," I said, flushing. 

"Perhaps not, but being able to breathe water would render your skill level almost irrelevant." 

_What?_ "I'm not still asleep, am I?" 

"I take it you were not aware. All strong majutsu users have an innate ability granted by our element. Water-wielders can breathe water, fire-wielders are very difficult to harm with heat or cold, wind-wielders have unusually acute senses of sight, hearing, and smell, and earth-wielders can imitate the strength of stone itself—although that would be more useful if we could exert it while moving." 

"Huh. No, I didn't know." Ulrike had probably assumed either that I already knew or that I wouldn't consider an ability I couldn't train to be important, and Bob might not have known himself. And it wasn't something I would have found out by experimentation—I mean, who _tries_ to breathe water, unless they have a death wish? 

"If you two could get out of the doorway so that I can find somewhere _dry_ to spend the rest of the night, I'd really appreciate it," Shin'ou said in an exasperated tone. 

"You can use our top bunk while we both curl up on the bottom one," I said. "After all, we're around twenty percent responsible for this mess." 

Shin'ou scowled. It looked really weird on Yuuri's face. "Eighty percent," he growled, and that was weird too—my brother's voice just wasn't made for growling. 

"Something wrong?" The unfortunate sailor nearly got two elbows—Geneus' and mine—in the pit of his stomach. I guess we'd both been too focused on Shin'ou to notice him coming up behind us. 

"Not anymore," I said briskly. "Crisis averted. We're just on our way back to bed." 

The man peered past me and into the soaking wet cabin. "If you say so, Mac—I mean, sir." 

He tromped back up the stairs and out onto the deck, leaving the three of us looking at each other. 

"Well, as you say, crisis averted." Geneus was the one who broke the silence at last. "And we had best get back to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." 

If I'd known just what the next day was going to be like, I might have dived over the side of the ship and swum all the way back to a certain Earth bathtub, but fortunetelling has never been one of my skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be out of town tomorrow and possibly the day after, so I figured I'd increase my Evil Points™ by leaving you all to speculate on what's going to happen to poor Shouri next. I'll post two chapters when I get back to make up for it.


	16. Chapter 16

"It's changed less than I thought it would," Murata said from where he was sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the cabin roof. "Even the harbour guard towers are still there, and the arch . . ." 

I tried not to shudder as I thought of the arch. Rega really was an old volcanic caldera, completely enclosed from the outside. To enter the harbour, we'd had to sail under the last remnant of the thinnest point of the ring, a gigantic arch of stone that seemed to balance precariously high above the water's surface. I'd had visions of it falling on us and smashing the boat. 

Murata hadn't been entirely right about the city being built up the sides of the caldera: I would have described it more as being built _into_ the caldera, with the backs of most buildings sticking into the stone walls of the hollow. I found out later that some of them continued on into actual caves. 

There was a lot of greenery in the city, especially when you considered that every plant either needed to be deliberately placed in a soil-filled pot or to search on its own for a spot where the rock was breaking down. Some of the potted trees must have been a century old. 

Since our ship was smallish and had no cargo to unload, we were directed to a narrow dock with potted trees set along its edges. Conrad politely thanked the captain for his efforts while the rest of us carried our baggage onto the pier. 

I was a bit surprised to see Gisela following Murata down the gangplank, carrying a pack of her own . . . but only a little. She had said something about buying supplies for the infirmary, after all, and she couldn't do that if she didn't get off the boat. 

"We should find a place to stay first," Murata said. "There were always a couple of inns near the harbour market." 

"You assume that the market itself is where you last saw it," Geneus said. "But I suppose it is either that or strike out at random." 

"I'll tag along with you, if you don't mind," Gisela said. "Even if I'm only going to be staying a day or two, it would be nice to sleep on something that doesn't rock." 

Murata led off along the curve of the harbour, toward the larger docks where the big cargo ships pulled up to disgorge their loads. We walked between rows of huge stone warehouses whose slate roofs overhung all but a narrow band of street, leaving the cobblestones and central gutter in perpetual twilight. 

"Do they have a monsoon season here?" I asked after contemplating the arrangement for a while. I mean, if all they'd wanted to do was cram as many buildings as possible into the limited space, they wouldn't have needed the overhangs. 

"Not quite," Geneus said. "They call it 'the season of spray': a month or more of light but constant rain. Even with the architecture designed to fend off and channel the excess, it is not a pleasant time to be in this city . . . unless one takes delight in discovering new and unusual forms of mold and mildew." 

I snorted. "When I was Yuuri's age, I knew a guy who enjoyed exactly that. I never did find out how he ended up teaching biology to a bunch of high school kids—he always acted like he should have been in a lab somewhere." 

"I'd forgotten that you attended Omiya, since Shibuya doesn't," Murata said. "Fujiwara-sensei really is a piece of work, though." 

"Yuu-chan was _supposed_ to go to Omiya," I said. "Until he slept through the entrance exam, that is. I've always wondered if he did it on purpose." 

"He wouldn't have passed anyway. There were a lot of algebra questions, and Shibuya only just barely made it through algebra when we were in middle school." 

"I would have tutored him if he'd asked." 

"I think that's exactly what he was afraid of, Shibuya's-big-brother." 

"You're saying I wouldn't have done a good job?" 

"I'm saying that you don't always have a sense of proportion when it comes to your brother, and it scares him." Murata said that with a sober expression, and I found myself actually turning the idea over in my mind as a result. 

"I guess maybe I do come on a little strong sometimes, but he never _listens_ ," I said after a moment. "And if you ever tell him I said that, I'll volunteer you to Anissina for her next experiment." 

"My lips are sealed," Murata promised. Conrad, walking behind him, said nothing, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. And Gisela giggled. 

We turned a corner, came out from between two warehouses . . . and barely escaped being tripped by something large and googly-eyed that was staggering along on a set of stiffened fins. It charged straight at Wolfram, who recoiled with a disgusted expression. 

"Catch it! Catch it!" A big man in a stained apron ran up to the . . . fish? . . . and tackled it, pinning it to the ground, where it continued to thrash and wave its fins until another guy came along pulling a small cart with a barrel on it. Between them, they managed to stuff the piscine menace into the barrel, and then hauled it away. 

I stared, non-plussed, at the puddle left behind on the ground. "What the hell was that?" 

"A walking mackerel, I think," Conrad said. 

"Pretty big one, too," Murata said cheerfully. "Did you know that some of the Pirate Islanders consider them messengers of the sea-god when they get to be that size?" 

I bit back a number of possible remarks about "holy mackerel", since I was pretty sure that Murata was trying to set me up. "Aren't we supposed to be looking for an inn?" 

A sigh. "You ruin all my fun, Shibuya's-big-brother." 

"Just like you made a career out of ruining mine," Shin'ou pointed out. 

Conrad, in the meanwhile, had stepped forward and planted himself in the path of a passer-by . . . one not burdened with a two-meter-long fish. "Excuse me? Ma'am? We're looking for a place to stay—could you point us at a good inn?" 

The middle-aged woman blushed slightly and said, "The Three Roses is three blocks straight hillwards from here—it's good, but expensive. If you want something cheaper, the Cavern-Tree on the other side of the market is clean and quiet and has decent food." 

Conrad gave her a warm smile, and I'd have sworn that little sparkly things appeared in the air around him. "Thank you." 

She went even redder as she scurried away, and the six of us watched her go for a moment. 

"It's a good thing he never uses that power for evil, isn't it?" Murata said with a grin. 

"I could have done it just as easily," Wolfram muttered. 

I rolled my eyes. "So . . . the Cavern-Tree? I don't know how much money we have—" And even if I had, I wouldn't have known what it was worth, so I hadn't complained when Gwendal had asked Conrad to play banker. "—but 'clean, quiet, and decent food' is good enough for me." 

There were general noises of agreement from everyone (except for Wolfram, but he quieted down as soon as Murata reminded him that we were trying not to attract attention), so we set off across the market. It was pretty haphazardly arranged, with stalls and people with their wares spread out on blankets or sticking out of barrels scattered at random through the space rather than lined up in neat rows. At the end at which we entered, the sellers' stocks mostly consisted of fish and other edible things pulled out of the sea—salt, kelp, stuff like that. Some of the larger stalls held their wares in tanks, and if you looked in, you could see the smaller fish swimming lazily about, unaware that their future held an ignominious blow to the head, followed by poaching or baking or spit-roasting or pan-frying. 

I tried not to stare too much at anything, although I couldn't help doing a double-take at the woman walking a lobster on a leash. I mean, there are limits. 

After a little while, the fish thinned out, but that just meant that the place became even more haphazard, with jewelry stalls crowding hard beside the ones that sold clothes or fruit or bread or knickknacks or herbs or leatherwork . . . actually, I think I saw one stall that was selling both jewelry and bananas. And charging more for the bananas. 

We were picking our way single-file between a blanket spread with junk and the back of a stall selling charcoal-roasted shiskabob-like things when Geneus, who was directly ahead of me . . . well, he didn't exactly stagger. It was more like he'd hesitated for a moment before completing his step. 

"Shouri," he said, "do not stare, but the men buying bread at the stall to our left . . ." 

I scanned to the left, over the head of the guy with the blanketful of junk, and immediately spotted what he'd been talking about: three brown-skinned men with swirly tattoos up and down their bare arms. One of whom had a large boomerang strapped to his back. And I would have sworn that I felt something with them that I recognized, something that teased at the same senses that let me know when there was water available to pull out of the air. _Yuuri?_

It was a stupid thing to do. I knew that before I'd gotten close enough to grab one guy by the arm, but I guess the thought of my brother's soul being _right there_ , in front of me, made me lose my mind for a few seconds—long enough to mess up the junk seller's blanket, nearly face-plant on top of a loaf of brown bread, and perform a judo throw on the guy with the boomerang, who went down hard on his back as his friends scrambled away. 

"You're going to tell me everything you know about the Kyel-bware," I said. 

The response wasn't in any language that I knew, but I had a feeling that it wasn't very polite or very useful. 

" _Kyel-bware,_ " I repeated. "Don't tell me that you don't know what I'm talking about!" 

"I doubt he does," Geneus said from behind me. "It is quite possible that he speaks only Djalt. _Dirtayyo mwak?_ " 

This produced a lengthy but still-incomprehensible response. I glanced over my shoulder at Geneus. He was frowning. 

"All of one word in three," he said. "Not surprising, given how quickly human languages can shift. What I did understand was quite insulting." _For which I don't entirely blame him,_ his expression suggested. 

I blew out a sigh. "Okay, so grabbing him was a stupid thing to do." I couldn't even feel that vague hint of Yuuri's presence anymore. Either one of the other guys had had the stray soul in his possession . . . or I'd been wrong about it ever being here in the first place. "But now that we do have him—" I stopped, because the guy on the ground was babbling again. And staring. Not at me, though, but at . . . Wolfram? I checked his line of sight carefully. Yes, it had to be Wolfram—Murata was too far to the left. And Geneus' brows were knitting together. "What's he saying?" 

"I am not certain. Some form of . . . no, that makes no sense." 

"He said, 'How can you be so young, my lord?'" Murata supplied. He was frowning too. 

I blinked, then turned, very slowly, to look at Shin'ou. They were looking for a Maoh's soul, and Wolfram did bear an incredible resemblance to the First King's real body . . . but if they knew what their target looked like, why had they been messing around with Yuuri? 

"Ask him who he thinks Wolfram is," I suggested. 

Murata said something, and listened keenly to the reply. "'And now you test my faith? How could I not know who you are, my lord? You are the one who came to us from the oceans. You are Lord Dietmar.'" 

Wolfram went white. And beside him, Conrad froze. Even Gisela looked startled. Clearly, the name meant something to them. 

"Can someone please tell me who the hell this Dietmar is?" I said. 

"A dead man," Wolfram spat. 

I bit down hard on, _So what was he to you?_ knowing that this wasn't the time. We'd already attracted a lot of attention—half the population of the market was staring at us—and we needed to get more questions in quickly, before we were interrupted. 

"I'm going to ask him about Shibuya's soul," Murata said, and went back to gabbling to our captive in Djalt. "He says, 'I was only to be an escort. Those I was to serve were returning with several souls in their possession, but I don't know where any of them came from.' If it's any consolation, though, Shibuya's-big-brother, I sensed him too—you weren't hallucinating." 

"It's . . . reassuring," I admitted. "Ask him—" 

"What the hell is going on here?" 

I stiffened, because I recognized that voice. Slowly, I turned around. 

Adalbert von Grantz had to have been in Rega for a while, because he was dressed for the weather, in knee-length shorts and a kind of sleeveless tunic, and every exposed surface of skin was well-tanned. Maroon really wasn't his colour, though, and the golden shark pins on his shoulders just looked silly. 

"It's kind of a long story," Conrad said. "What about you? You're the last person I would have expected to see join anyone's city guard." 

It took a heroic effort to keep my expression under control. _He's with the local police this time? And I just committed assault . . ._

Adalbert snorted. "I do what I'm hired to do—which, in this case, is trying to ferret out some corruption problems. And you still haven't answered my question." 

_Yuuri trusts this man,_ I told myself. "Someone stole my brother's soul. We're trying to get it back." 

Adalbert's eyes widened slightly. "Someone _stole_ the boyo's—but isn't that—" He was looking at Shin'ou. 

"Sorry, but I'm just borrowing his body while he's away." 

"Blue eyes . . . Who are you? Where's _your_ body?" 

"His name is Magnus," I said. "His body doesn't exist anymore. I gave him permission to hitch a ride in Yuuri's." 

"Huh. And you must be Geneus, judging from what I heard about you after the fact." 

Geneus gave him a wary nod. 

" _Two_ Great Sages, and a blue-eyed soul that's lost his body . . ." Von Grantz's hand went to the hilt of his sword . . . and Gisela grabbed his wrist. 

"Please, Adalbert! This isn't the time. We have a lead on the Maoh's soul, but if we wait too long, we're going to lose them again. Ask him where the men he was escorting have gone," Gisela prompted Murata, who turned back to the guy whose arm I was kneeling on and asked a question in Djalt . . . and froze up as he listened to the response. 

"This was their last stop on the way to the harbour!" 

I felt my eyes widen. _Oh, shit._

We ran, of course, with Adalbert jogging along behind us, but it didn't do any good. We lost precious seconds trying to figure out exactly where they'd gone, and hit the end of a dock just in time to see a double outrigger canoe raising a triangular blue sail under the stone arch leading out of the harbour. 

"If we hopped on a boat _right now_ —" I began, although it was more of a prayer than a suggestion. 

Murata and Geneus both shook their heads. "You can't find one of those on the open ocean except by luck," the younger-bodied Great Sage said. "The sail blends with the skyline, and the canoe itself is so low to the waves that you have to be practically right on top of it to spot it." 

I swore and sat down right there, at the end of the dock, with my feet dangling over the water. "I guess it's time for that long story, then, Lord von Grantz." 

Adalbert didn't smile. "I guess it is . . . Lord Shouri."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So near, and yet so far . . . ;)


	17. Chapter 17

"So this is another one of your former-life mistakes?" Adalbert frowned at Murata, who looked at Geneus. 

"I guess so," the younger-seeming Great Sage said with a crooked grin. "The last 'mistake' doesn't seem to have turned out all that badly in the end, though. Let's hope that this one is equally . . . resolvable. In the meanwhile, though . . . " He turned to face Wolfram, who, through my entire recitation of recent history had refused to look at anyone. "I think I know who 'Lord Dietmar' is, but I'd like someone to spell it out for me." 

It wasn't Wolfram who responded, but Conrad. "Lord Dietmar von Bielefeld was Mother's third husband . . . and Wolfram's father." 

"So why haven't I ever heard of him before?" I asked. 

Adalbert snorted. "The idiot got into a tussle with Waltorana over the lordship of Bielefeld Province—something about the Maoh's husband and someone who had actually produced an heir being the more fit ruler. I didn't know him all that well, so I couldn't tell you whether he thought Waltorana would go easy on him because they were family or he was just dumber than a Flybone—" Wolfram drew in an indignant breath, but subsided without saying anything when Conrad squeezed his shoulder. "—but then he made the mistake of getting Raven Eichenfel ticked off at him, which meant that Stoffel turned against him. One thing led to another, and he left the country no more than a day or two before he would have been called before the Council to explain what the heck he thought he was doing." 

"He left Mother a note and ran off in the middle of the night," Conrad added in a tight voice. "Wolfram hadn't even been born yet." 

_So he never even saw his son's face._ I checked Wolfram, but he was staring fixedly at the side of a boat tied up at the next dock over, saying nothing. Just as well, because I don't know what kind of answer any of us could have made. "Sorry your dad was a horse's ass" probably wouldn't have helped the situation, and Wolfram wasn't the sort to accept anything more comforting from anyone except maybe Yuuri. Who wasn't here. 

I took a deep breath. "This doesn't really change anything. If we run into him, we'll do whatever seems appropriate at the time. In the meanwhile, we still need to find a hotel, and a ship out to Mbahata. And go clothes shopping," I added as I felt a bead of sweat run down my back underneath my shirt. And I'd had the sense to pack my jacket rather than wearing it. Conrad had his on, though. He had to be soaked. 

"Mbahata? You're going to have a hard time, then," Adalbert said. "Last few years, the whole place has gone crazy, and the traders don't call there anymore." 

I muttered a four-letter English word. "We'll have to bribe someone, I guess. Or find some way to get a navigator who knows the area onto the ship we came on." 

But Conrad was already shaking his head. "I don't think the captain who brought us here is likely to be willing to risk his ship for our sake. Gwendal didn't pay him that much, and he only agreed to come here because it wasn't much of a risk." 

Adalbert stroked his chin. "How much money do you have?" 

Conrad told him, adding, "There are a few accounts we can draw on if it's absolutely necessary . . . but it could attract attention if we did." 

"Well, what you're carrying isn't enough to hire anyone trustworthy," the big blonde man said. "But there's another possibility, if you're not afraid of a little rowing. I'll look into it." 

"I'm kind of surprised you're being so helpful," I said. 

Adalbert shrugged. "It might seem weird, but I actually like the kid—your brother, that is. Plus, he's the best thing that's happened to Shin Makoku in thousands of years, and there are still people I care about living there." Like Gisela, evidently. At some point, she'd sidled closer to him, and he'd wrapped one arm loosely around her. 

"And here I thought you'd broken all your ties." Shin'ou's voice was calm, but his jaw—Yuuri's jaw—was set. 

Adalbert's mouth twisted, although he responded easily enough. "Because I hate you? Get over yourself. Besides, if I punched your face in right now the way I want to, it wouldn't be _your_ body I ended up damaging. The kid hasn't done anything to deserve ending up with a broken jaw and half his teeth knocked out." 

"Would it help if I apologized?" 

Adalbert looked surprised. "I didn't know you could." 

"And just who would you expect to stop me?" Shin'ou dropped to his knees and bent slowly forward, forcing my brother's body into a full kowtow with his forehead pressed against the surface of the dock. "Adalbert von Grantz. I deeply regret the death of Susannah Julia von Wincott, and the pain it caused you. That I was using everyone, including myself, ruthlessly in an attempt to win a war . . . is not a sufficient excuse. I should have found another way. I am sorry." 

Adalbert stared at Shin'ou's back, nostrils flaring . . . and then Gisela stirred, and he sighed and relaxed. 

"Get up," the big, blonde Mazoku said. Shin'ou raised his head, then sat back on his heels. " _Up,_ " Adalbert repeated, and Shin'ou obediently stood. "I can't forgive you. Not entirely. But . . . I'm gradually coming to terms with what happened. I never could stop Julia from doing whatever she wanted. She was her own woman to the end, and she made . . . the choice she made. I guess she thought she was saving the world, and maybe she was. Still, if you _ever_ interfere in my life again, or . . . the life of anyone I care about . . ." His expression softened as he looked down at Gisela. 

"I understand," Shin'ou said, glancing at Geneus, then at me . . . so maybe he really did. 

I ran my hands through my hair. "Now, about that inn . . ." 

We ended up at the Cavern Tree despite the detour. Apparently Adalbert agreed with the description of the place given by the woman Conrad had charmed, but he added some extra details as we paused outside the building. "The food's excellent, overall, so long as you don't mind fish and avoid anything in green sauce—they use that to cover up the stuff that's gone slightly off. I've eaten here a few times myself." 

The lobby was kind of startling, though, because there was a tree in the center of it. Well, not a real tree, but a very realistic sculpture, with a metal trunk and branches and individual leaves that seemed to be made from softly glowing green stone. It had to have taken thousands of man-hours to put together. _I guess now I know where the place got its name._

After a bit of negotiation with the counter clerk, Conrad managed to secure four rooms for us, in a little group at the end of a hallway. 

"Six beds," Adalbert noted when we had the last door open. "Who gets to double up?" 

I flushed and looked at Geneus, who smiled. Well, it was hardly as though we'd been trying to keep it a secret. 

"If I hadn't been so stupid as to take over his brother's body, we'd only need five," Shin'ou said regretfully, and Adalbert blinked. Wolfram looked like he'd been whacked over the head with something. I guess he hadn't figured it out. 

"The _three_ of you?" von Grantz asked. 

I blushed even brighter, and the renegade Mazoku snorted. 

"Seems the boyo isn't the only one in your family who likes playing with fire." 

Geneus' mouth thinned. "Lord von Grantz, if you could kindly keep yourself from teasing our gelöbling . . ." The word he used didn't translate easily into any Earth language I knew: it meant something more than just a lover, but less than a spouse . . . "person-we-are-in-a-committed-and-long-term-but-not-legally-sanctioned-relationship-with" is as close as I can come. To the extent that the Earth languages I know have terms for a similar level of relationship, they suggest cohabitation, and Geneus' word didn't. "His culture is not one that encourages open displays of affection, unlike ours." 

I could see Adalbert trying to decide whether or not to be offended by that "ours", given that he had turned his back on Shin Makoku. Could they really be described as coming from the same culture, anyway? Even given the length of Mazoku lifespans and any possible this-world incarnations more recent than four thousand years ago, Geneus was the equivalent of someone from the days of Japan's Tokugawa Shogunate, or the pre-Civil-War US, set loose in the modern versions of those countries. If I'd been in that position, I doubt I would have coped even nearly as well. 

Our room didn't have any windows, and I blinked several times at the smooth stone walls before I realized that it was actually a cave. The lighting came from a gently glowing chandelier bolted to the ceiling, and I blinked at it, too, as Geneus closed the door. 

"It is a houjutsu device," he explained. "Like the tree in the lobby." 

" _Houjutsu?_ It . . . isn't going to make you sick or anything, is it?" I had to admit that I didn't know a lot about houjutsu, only a few bits and pieces I had picked up from reading I had done while I was laid up at Shin'ou's Temple. 

"It is not the houjutsu itself, but the houseki used to focus it, that causes illness in Mazoku, and the light is powered by a single low-grade stone—not enough to cause a problem even in an unusually sensitive individual, even if it were being used to power a sealing spell rather than a minor household convenience. My susceptibility to houseki sickness, while greater than yours, is unusually low for a pure-blooded Mazoku in any case. We used houjutsu from time to time ourselves during the war four thousand years ago, and I learned a number of . . . mitigation strategies, several of which have become automatic." 

We were standing only a couple of feet apart, and I found myself looking at him—at his long-fingered hands, at the graceful movement of his body as he set his pack down at the foot of the bed, at the thin-lipped, faintly smiling mouth that I suddenly wanted so desperately to taste . . . I licked my lips. I had never kissed him, not in real life. When he'd been in Murata's body, it had been _him_ kissing _me_ , and it hadn't been the same, really. We hadn't been lovers then. 

I took a step toward him, mouth suddenly dry. I felt utterly clumsy as I placed one hand on his hip and the other on his shoulder, then leaned in. 

His lips parted softly under mine, and he put his hand against the nape of my neck, holding me in place while our tongues sparred with one another. He tasted exactly the same as he did in the dreams—felt the same under my touch, with smooth skin and silken hair . . . I pushed my body forward, pressing against him, and he made one of those soft, hungry sounds as the bulge in my pants met the one under his tunic. I pulled my mouth from his and began to work my way down his neck, savouring the taste of his skin as I decorated it with little nipping kisses, while he reached behind me and untucked my shirt so that he could run his fingers teasingly over my bare skin . . . 

"Whoa, you two! I know you've _got_ a room, but you should remember to close the door before you start getting it on," Murata said, and I jerked away from Geneus, going beet red again . . . but not so much because of Murata as because of the figure standing beside him. Shin'ou. And I was feeling vaguely like we'd cheated on him. 

Then the man wearing my brother's body smirked and said, "Actually, I'd be much happier if they didn't," and the moment of discomfort dissolved. 

"Pervert," Geneus said affectionately. 

Shin'ou's smirk shaded over into a leer. "And what does that make you for putting up with me?" 

"Crazed," came the dry reply. Murata, from the look of him, was trying not to laugh. 

"I take it you didn't drop by because you had a sudden attack of voyeurism, friend-of-my-brother," I said. Somehow my voice didn't crack on "voyeurism". 

"No, we thought you might like to come along on the shopping trip," Murata said. "Of course, we could always come back later . . ." 

I wasn't anywhere near the head of the bed, or I would have thrown a pillow at him. As it was, I had to content myself with rolling my eyes. And tucking my shirt back in. 

There really were feather skirts on offer at the market, although Geneus didn't buy one. We saw several people wearing them, too, usually in company with painted wooden masks that covered the top halves of their faces all the way to the hairline. Adalbert, who had tagged along with us, snorted when he saw them and muttered something about Ehalauuyi. 

The big blonde Mazoku walked among the stalls hand-in-hand with Gisela. A couple of people that he evidently knew offered the couple congratulations, making Gisela blush and look downward. There was always that weird dichotomy in her, between this bashful young woman and the confident, almost overbearing one that we'd seen yelling at poor Dakaskos over his inability to count bandages. It made me wonder what it was like inside her head. 

I wasn't about to wear a feather skirt either, but Adalbert led us to a big stall that sold the sort of outfit that ninety percent of the people around us were wearing—sleeveless tunics or shirts, combined with pants that ended somewhere between the knee and the ankle, all made of some unfamiliar light fabric—and that wasn't so bad. The proprietor clucked at us as she measured each of us in turn with a piece of knotted string and then pointed us toward her racks and bins, explaining in a toothless mumble what colour combinations we should look for in the colourful bits of yarn or fabric scraps she had pinned to each of her wares. She had a pretty good system, I guess, since anything I tried on that matched her advice fit. 

Trying things on was a bit of a problem, though. There was a single curtained-off corner of the stall that could be used as a change area, but it wouldn't accommodate more than one person at a time. For the most part, we left that to Wolfram, who turned out to have a prudish streak I would never have expected. The rest of us just made do , and trusted what the old woman told us about pants measurements . . . although Shin'ou seemed not to mind the idea of stripping all the way down to his skin in a public place. Fortunately, we managed to keep him from doing anything that would embarrass Yuuri if he found out about it. 

We each bought a couple of changes of shirt and trousers, and—again on Adalbert's advice—sandals with long laces that were meant to criss-cross their way up the lower leg almost to the knee. Murata wore his back to the inn, and Conrad traded in his jacket for a sleeveless shirt, but the rest of us kept our old clothes. 

Adalbert stuck with us through supper, although most of his attention remained on Gisela. Of course. Wolfram frowned with displeasure every time they touched hands, but thankfully he kept his mouth shut. 

The food really was excellent, and after we'd finished all three courses, I think we were all a bit uncomfortably full. Conrad patted his stomach when he got up, and I'd never seen him do that, even after two helpings of Mom's curry. I used the majutsu trick that Shin'ou had taught me for dealing with morning sickness, and it did seem to help. 

Adalbert followed us down the hall to our rooms, too. Gisela's hand lingered on his arm as she unlocked the door to her room. I don't think anyone but Adalbert was surprised when she got a decisive expression on her face, turned toward him, and hauled his head down for a kiss. _So I guess she really does return his feelings . . . but she's the royal healer and he's in exile from Shin Makoku. Not that Yuuri would stop him if he wanted to come back, but it's still got to be difficult for them._

Back inside our room, Geneus had unbraided his hair and was sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing it out. I flopped down beside him and watched, sleepy and contented. I mean, I'd eaten well, it was a nice, soft bed, and one of the most beautiful men in two worlds was sitting beside me. The only thing missing was a certain idiot blonde pseudo-god . . . and he was in the room just next door, arguing with Murata over which of them got which bed, or something. 

Seeing Adalbert and Gisela made me wonder how we were going to work out long-term, especially given the weird complications we had and they didn't, like the two-worlds thing, and Shin'ou's lack of a body. The wet dreams I was sure the blonde would be glad to include me in wouldn't be quite enough to compensate for my not being able to be with the two of them when I was awake . . . How often would I be able to transport myself from Earth to Shin Makoku? Even Yuuri didn't do that every day, and even if it stung a bit, I had to admit that I had less maryoku than he did. Every two or three days, maybe, and stay the length of a night on Earth—a few days here? Geneus might be willing to come to my world now and again, but Shin'ou was effectively trapped in the temple . . . 

"If you are going to fall asleep, it would perhaps be best to do so beneath the blankets," Geneus said with a gentle smile. "It will not be as warm here at night as during the day." 

"Sorry—I guess I was so busy watching you, I fell into a trance or something." 

His smile widened. "Had your eyes not been so unfocussed, I might even have believed that. But I am fairly certain that your mind was worlds away." 

"One world away, anyway," I admitted with a grimace. "I was trying to work out a viable commute schedule, except that I don't know how much of my majutsu it actually takes to get from one world to the other, so I don't know how often I'm going to be able to do it. On this side I should have plenty of time to recover before I need to go back, but on Earth—" 

"I think . . . a day, perhaps two if you felt a particular weakness after arriving here under your own power. You do not need to open the gate very wide to slip only yourself through it." 

"So I _could_ come back here every night," I said slowly. 

"But would you wish to?" 

"Of course I would. I'm really going to miss you when I have to go . . . home." And which of them was really going to be my home now? The house where my parents lived, or the temple where my lovers would be waiting for me? "I need to figure out how to balance this relationship with the rest of my life. After all, I've never done anything like this before. Or at least, not that I remember. Strong majutsu comes from having an old soul, doesn't it?" 

"So the legends say." Geneus had finished weaving his hair expertly back into a loose braid and tying it off, and was turning back the covers on his side of the bed. "It is not a conjecture easily proven, and I do not know who you may have been in your past lives. We may even have been lovers before." 

"I'd like to believe that, I think," I said. "Being drawn back to you, even though I don't remember . . . being drawn back to him. The three of us, always together." 

"The idea does have a pleasing quality," Geneus said. "Although I doubt it will happen that way. I have no reason to retain my memories through yet another lifetime . . . although at the same time, I fear losing them. One can become accustomed to anything, even being born with millennia of history clinging to one's brain like layers of unbreakable enchanted cobweb. If I abandon what I have been, it means going forward into the unknown, and that is . . . not a comfortable sensation." 

"No," I agreed. "It isn't. But . . . do you really have to do it? I mean, you might have no reason to keep your memories, but do you really have any reason to let them go, either?" 

Geneus froze, staring at me. " . . . No," he said softly. "No, I suppose I do not." 

"And you've got plenty of time to decide, anyway, don't you? I mean, you're not all that old—or at least your body isn't—and this world is peaceful now, mostly. It'll be hundreds of years before you even need to worry." 

His smile was a little wry, but it was clear that something had also relaxed inside him. "Sometimes it takes someone on the outside of the situation to see the truth. Thank you, Shouri." 

"You're welcome," I said easily. "Now, do you have any idea how we turn out the lights?" 

It turned out that there was a pressure panel on the wall that acted kind of like a lightswitch. When I pressed it, the chandelier winked out, leaving a line of phosphorescence drawn on the floor around the edge of the bed the only light in the room. I scrambled under the covers quickly after that, snuggled up against Geneus, and left myself drift away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're back on schedule in posting terms now.
> 
> And in our next chapter, Shouri discovers he should have been a little more careful in accepting Adalbert's help . . . ;)


	18. Chapter 18

I dropped my spork on the floor and muttered a curse. "A _honeymoon cruise?_ Are you serious?" 

Adalbert, who had arrived just in time for breakfast, shrugged. "They're the only people who go anywhere near Mbahata these days, to give their passengers a look at the glass serpent breeding grounds just off the island. From there, it's a few hours' hard rowing to the harbour, if you can avoid being shot by angry natives or getting tangled up in a serpent orgy. The six of you make two couples, plus a bodyguard and a servant. I had Keenan reserve the cabins." 

"Don't get any ideas," Murata said to Shin'ou, who was eyeing him with . . . a certain expression on his face. "I'm going to be your valet, not your husband, since neither you nor Lord von Bielefeld would be even remotely convincing as a servant." 

Shin'ou sighed. "Much though I'd like to thoroughly debauch you, you clearly aren't attracted, and Saïré . . . well, I'd never see the end of that punishment, or the one from Shouri for returning his brother's body in a shopworn state." 

Geneus said nothing, but judging from his expression, he agreed. Which was good, because I felt the same way. 

"There are some commitments I take seriously, you know," the dead king added. "Besides, you're much less attractive with that hair dye." 

He reached for Murata's hand, but Murata dodged without making it look like he was dodging, stabbing his spork at the platter that held the last of the mysterious deep-fried things that had come with our meal. Geneus' mouth had thinned as he watched. _Whoo boy, and here I thought you didn't want to be punished._ Either Shin'ou didn't care, though, or he was willfully ignoring us. 

That was the beginning of a pattern, unfortunately. As we headed for the ship hosting the honeymoon cruise, Shin'ou flirted outrageously with Murata, clearly enjoying himself. Murata managed to counter or slip away from every ploy, but I had the feeling the strain would start telling on him fairly soon. Geneus' expression showed that I wasn't the only one who felt like smacking Shin'ou. Even Conrad's smile was starting to get a bit strained by the time we found the right dock. 

"Good luck," Gisela said as we came to a stop at the edge of the embarkation area. 

"Thanks," I said. "Take care, okay? We'll see you back in Shin Makoku." 

The healer nodded. 

"And you, Weller," Adalbert said. "Look after the boyo." 

"That's why we brought him," Murata said. The two swordsmen ignored him, sharing a look that suggested, if not friendliness, then at least mutual respect. 

Conrad was the one who greeted the impeccably uniformed crewman at the bottom of the gangplank and presented our tickets. The crewman only gave them a distracted glance, however, because Shin'ou had started up again, feeding Murata outrageous compliments. It made me want to knock both of their heads together. 

"When one is undertaking a dynastic marriage to unite the fortunes of two families," Geneus said, loudly enough for the crewman to hear, "sometimes one is fortunate enough to feel deep affection for one's intended . . ." He offered me a warm smile. "Unfortunately, there are also times, as with my new brother and his husband, that the personalities clash." A deliberate glance in the direction of Wolfram and Shin'ou. The blonde had a disgusted expression on his face and was fixedly ignoring the man wearing my brother's body. 

"I just hope they get over it soon," I said. "They're becoming a disgrace." 

"I am certain it will be fine. Your brother, at least, is more mature than he seems to be intent on appearing at present." 

I almost laughed. "True enough." 

At least the conversation had served its purpose and deflected the crewman's attention. "Your luggage, sirs?" 

"Is going to be delivered," Shin'ou said firmly, with Wolfram adding an aristocratic sniff as punctuation. The crewman didn't bat an eyelash. _Hurdle number two, passed._ We'd arrived here early on purpose—by the time all the other passengers and _their_ luggage had come aboard, no one was likely to remember that we'd arrived with only little travelling packs. Hell, for all I knew Adalbert might have arranged the delivery of a couple of trunks full of rocks, just to maintain the illusion. 

Our rooms were near the bow of the ship. Each came with rugs made from exotic furs, a king-sized bed, two dressers, and what I thought at first was a wardrobe. Until I opened ours. 

"Shouri? They will not bite, you know. And we do not need to use them." 

"Ah, um. Well." It was, I told myself, a _honeymoon_ cruise, so the selection of scented and flavoured oils made sense—lubrication, massages, whatever—and the thing that looked like an oversized finger from a rubber glove was probably some kind of condom, for opposite-sex pairs who weren't looking to have kids right away. The handcuffs and scarves and silk cord and leather straps . . . mild kinks in that direction were probably pretty common. Feathers, ditto. Cock rings, dildos, small clamps, other things that were pretty clearly made for penetration even though I didn't know what they were called . . . stretching it a bit, but okay. I'd never seen so many sex toys in the same place before, but what had me staring with disturbed fascination were the whips and paddles, all of them looking brand-new and squeaky-clean and polished. I cleared my throat. "Have you ever . . . ?" I pointed at the nearest whip. 

Geneus grimaced. "A few times, to satisfy lovers with tendencies in that direction, or . . . well, Magnus said he had already described his . . . needs toward the end of his physical life to you. Wielding such instruments does not give me any great satisfaction, but if you wish to experiment . . ." 

"Not with those!" I took a step back from the cabinet. "Maybe . . . um . . . some of the other stuff . . ." I was bright red, I knew—I could feel the heat in my face. "Do you think they even clean it between trips?" I blurted out. 

Geneus went up to the cabinet and examined the contents. "There are no signs of staining or . . . accretions," he said after a moment. "I would guess that they use the same protocol as the more expensive brothels and either replace their offerings or clean them with live steam between users." 

_Sterilized for your protection,_ I thought wildly. _I guess that's a good thing._

"Rather than contemplating their use on either of us, it might be more interesting to consider how we are going to punish Magnus, since he seems to be angling for that today. I do not think that whipping him will be necessary, however, given that his transgressions this time are relatively minor. Also, there is a limit to the level of pain that he . . . appreciates." 

I would have flushed if I hadn't been as red as I could possibly get already. Would I never be able to get that damned dream-memory with the candle wax out of my head? "Did you have something in mind?" 

"Frustration tends to work well on him. Perhaps we should tie him up and make him watch?" 

My face had to be shading toward maroon by that point, but I could feel heat rising between my legs, too. "That sounds . . . interesting." 

Unexpectedly, I found myself drawn into a hug. "My poor Shouri. There is no need to be embarrassed about such things. Elaborations in lovemaking are no more unnatural than elaborations in dancing or swordplay." 

"It's just . . . you're the first people that I've ever shared this kind of thing with," I said. 

Geneus eyebrows rose. "Then you were a virgin when—" 

I was starting to wish I could sink through the floor. "Yeah. I'd . . . read about it a lot, you could say, but I'd never . . ." I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. 

My lover's hand stroked the length of my back. "If I had realized, I would have been more gentle, but you seemed entirely aware of what was going on." 

"Well, I'd dreamed a bunch of your memories at that point, so between that and the reading I had a pretty good idea, but that isn't quite the same as, well, actually _doing_ it. Technically, I still haven't . . . um . . . _you_ know." I gritted my teeth. Not only was I babbling, but I sounded like I was Yuuri's age. Maybe even a bit younger. _Mature adults aren't suppose to choke up when they talk about sex._ But, well, we never had. Talked about it, I mean. Not really, not when we weren't actually in bed together. 

Geneus planted a soft kiss on my cheek. "We will have to make certain to divest you of your physical virginity over the next few days. I do not think you will find it so very different . . . save, perhaps, in terms of the greater preparation and clean-up required." 

_Oh, hell . . ._ He was right that it was past time, and probably right that it wouldn't be so very different. Important in a way, but at the same time, not a big deal. "I'll be looking forward to it." _And probably blushing a lot._

I wasn't ready for it just yet, though, and Geneus seemed to understand as much, because he was the one who suggested that we spend the hour or so before lunch exploring the ship. By Earth standards it was laughably small for a cruise ship, of course—no more than thirty cabins—but it was well-appointed. You could tell that just from looking around the hallways, with their carpeted floors and polished wooden walls. Houseki provided light that wouldn't set anything on fire in rough seas, and (according to Geneus) also provided water purification for the baths and on-board laundry, as well as cooking. The ship we'd come to Rega on hadn't had such amenities, so I was willing to bet that they cost a mint. 

When we were approaching the stern corridor on the lower level, Geneus suddenly staggered, hand to his head. I caught his shoulder to steady him. "Hey! Are you okay?" 

"There is a heavy concentration of houseki somewhere nearby, and it caught me by surprise, that is all," he said. "I would guess that I am sensing an auxiliary engine. Fortunately there is nothing back here but more cabins, so we should be able to avoid this part of the ship." 

"Let's go back to the lounge," I said, drawing him with me as I suited actions to words and turned around. 

The lounge was in the middle of the ship on the level below the deck proper, and I wasn't entirely surprised to find it occupied when we got there. The others weren't going to be making use of the contents of the cabinet in their suite, assuming there was one, so finding Shin'ou wandering the ship alone wasn't exactly surprising. When we walked in, he was studying a potted plant that was wedged in between two chairs, up against a window. 

"I think this constitutes cruelty to vegetation," he said without turning around. "The poor thing's barely getting any light." 

"That may be on purpose," Geneus said. "If it were to grow too quickly, it might damage the structure of the ship. I had never imagined you as an emancipator of abused jungle ferns, however." 

Shin'ou tilted his head to one side. "It would be kind of difficult to emancipate them as such—I'd have to haul them off the ship, through the city, and over the rim of the crater to find somewhere to plant them . . . and would they even survive the winter in this climate?" 

"I believe they would, just, if placed in a sheltered area." 

"They'd just go dig up another one, though," I said. "You can't save them all." Although my brother, crazy as he was, would probably have tried . . . assuming he'd managed to get himself worked up over a plant in the first place. "Just please tell me you didn't murder Wolfram and hide his body." 

A firm headshake. "Too difficult to conceal while we're still at anchor here. If I were going to kill him, I'd wait until late one night in the middle of nowhere, and then knife him and drop the body over the side. He's up on deck, sulking, and Murata's in the library, trying to find something to read that isn't either an erotic novel or a sex manual." 

Geneus snorted softly. "I did not take the time to peruse all the shelves during our brief visit there, but unless he considers love poetry more acceptable as entertainment, I do not believe he will find much of interest. He would do better to try the markets while we are still in port." 

"Hopefully he will. This is going to be a rather boring trip for the four of us." 

Six days of it, from what I understood. _They're going to be climbing the walls._ Conrad and Murata would at least have bodyguard- and servant-like things to do, but I was pretty sure that those wouldn't take up all that much of their time. 

I cleared my throat. "Has anyone considered how we're going to get back here, afterwards? I can't see us rowing a boat all the way from Mbahata to Rega, and from what I understand there aren't any other islands nearby." 

"In the worst case, with all of us working together, we should be able to transport everyone to your world," Geneus said. "Anyone who does not wish to take that route will have to steal a sailing canoe. I agree that rowing is not likely to be successful." 

_I don't think our bathtub's that big. Although I guess we could try the fountain in the park, or even the river._ And while Conrad and Geneus had been to Earth before, Wolfram was always a pain in the ass, and Shin'ou . . . well, I didn't know what Shin'ou might do, if he was still occupying Yuuri's body by then. Which was scary. 

And Geneus sharing my bed at _home_? Damn, but that would be weird. Not unwelcome, but weird. Even without one of us hosting Shin'ou's soul. And I would have to break the truth about our relationship to my parents. A part of me was cringing at that idea. _I'm not ready for this._ Straight from never-had-a-girl-or-boyfriend to being deeply involved with _two_ other guys at once was . . . not normal. Mom would probably be not only happy for me, but ridiculously overenthusiastic. Hell, it would be typical of her to start planning the wedding on the spot, and try to force poor Geneus into a dress . . . although, come to think of it, my black-haired lover might not be too bad a sport about that. He hadn't been all that bothered by the idea of walking around Rega bare-chested in a feather skirt, after all. Dad would . . . I really wasn't sure what Dad would do, and that scared me a bit. He hadn't freaked out and disowned Yuuri over Wolfram, which was a hopeful sign, but he'd also seen enough of Yuuri and Wolfram to know that they weren't serious, and Geneus and Shin'ou and I were and it probably showed in the way we treated each other, even when we were trying to keep it a secret. 

Geneus, I realized, had an eyebrow quirked in my direction. 

"Just thinking about how my family is going to react to the two of you," I said. "A relationship like the one we have . . . on Earth, it would be unusual. Illegal, in some places." 

"It isn't usual in Shin Makoku either," Shin'ou said. "Although it certainly isn't illegal—I signed that into law before we'd even put the finishing touches on Blood Pledge Castle." 

"The effort required to maintain an intimate relationship between three people can be more than double what is required for a pair," Geneus said. "Of course, it is also more than twice as rewarding." He smiled warmly at both of us. "We are all old souls, settled inside ourselves, even if one of us does not consciously remember the lessons his previous lives have taught him. We will not be easily broken apart." 

He reached over and took my hand, deceptively delicate-looking sinewy fingers intertwining with my blunter ones, while Shin'ou watched us with a lazy smirk on his face. Weird how that expression made me want to jump on him and cover him with kisses, even when he was in Yuuri's body. 

"Tonight," I told him. I somehow managed to keep the blush off my face as his eyebrows rose and his smirk widened into a distinctly smug expression. 

"We must, after all, punish you properly for your childish behaviour," Geneus said, and I was treated to the disturbing spectacle of my brother's body getting a very visible erection. 

"I'll look forward to it," Shin'ou said, with sparks of light dancing in his blue, blue eyes. 

The rest of the day was spent waiting, mostly. We did go back to the market for a while, and returned to the ship with several books, two gameboards with playing pieces, and a deck of cards. Other than that, Geneus and I didn't see much of the others, who had a larger suite on a different floor of the ship, although the six of us did share a table at supper. 

I kept sneaking glances at Geneus as we prepared for bed—was he seriously going to tie Shin'ou up, and then . . . in front of him . . . I flushed every time I thought about it, but I also got hard. Very hard. It was a relief to get out of my pants. 

Geneus undressed systematically, folding the loose trousers and thigh-length sleeveless shirt with which had replaced his long tunic into precise rectangular packets and setting them on the dresser. He left his underwear on, but I could see the bulge underneath it. 

We didn't speak as we got into bed, just cuddled together and kissed a bit. Geneus' mouth tasted of the wine he'd drunk with supper, and the subtle, indescribable flavour that I associated solely with him. We drifted off into the dark with our arms wrapped around each other, and were still entwined when we both woke into the familiar dream of the stone-walled room with the huge bed—quite naked, although we hadn't been when we'd fallen asleep. 

"I've been wondering," I said thoughtfully to the canopy. "What is this place, exactly? I mean, it isn't an exact duplicate of anywhere real, is it?" 

"The physical layout matches my old room at Blood Pledge Castle," Shin'ou said from beside me. "It doesn't look like this now, of course—not after passing through the hands of twenty-six other Maohs, each of whom had his or her own ideas about interior decoration. The contents are more . . . what I wish they could have been, though." He gestured at a dresser that once again bore a silver-backed brush enwrapped with black hair, and at what I figured out after a moment was the bedside table on my side of the bed, which was topped with a heavy leather-bound book with a bookmark sticking out of it, and . . . my glasses-cleaning kit? 

I reached out and picked up the items in question for a closer look. Folded lint-free cloth, dyed pale blue. Small pump container full of something green that my optometrist claimed was better for the purpose of cleaning lenses than ordinary water, with his logo on the side. It was the only piece of plastic in the room. 

"Your subconscious generated that," Shin'ou said. "It tried for one of those 'computer' things too, but in a half-hearted sort of way." 

"It probably couldn't figure out where to plug it in," I muttered. Then, more loudly, "So this is . . . home? Or it's meant to be something _like_ home?" 

"I do not think it was _meant_ to be anything, beyond an environment that the three of us can share. We all want this place, or something like it, and so it _is_ . . . at least within our minds." 

"And both of you have very good memories for detail," Shin'ou added with a smile. "If I'd tried to put this place together out of only what _I_ remember, we'd be lying on a brightly-coloured blob inside a boxy grey blob." 

"Well, then." Geneus smiled and reached under the pillows. He pulled out a length of silk cord and snapped a portion of it taut between his hands. "We will see if I remember this with as much clarity as the rest." 

"For me? You shouldn't have." Shin'ou's cock was hardening visibly, rising from the nest of curls between his legs. 

"Oh, believe me, there is more to come. For now, put your hands behind your back." 

The blonde man obeyed, with a crooked smile on his face. Geneus looped the rope around his wrists, then began tying knots. He pinioned Shin'ou neatly with his legs drawn up to his chest and spread, placing both his cock and his ass on display for us. The largest knot of all rested just behind his balls, and it was obvious from the way that the god-king squirmed against the ropes that he was enjoying the way it pressed against him. 

Geneus took something else from under the pillows and reached over to caress Shin'ou's straining erection. When he lifted his hand away, there was a shiny band of metal around the base of the engorged cock. 

"I should never have given you those pillow books." Shin'ou was grinning as he said it, though. 

"If you could relieve the pressure by your own action, it would scarcely be a proper punishment for your behaviour today," Geneus retorted. "You have been acting like a child." 

"And I'd be far worse without you to keep my in line, my loves." The blonde man's eyes sparkled with laughter. 

"Ignore him, Shouri," Geneus said, and kissed me. 

He'd done all of the work up to this point, so I figured it was time for me to take over for a bit. Not only did I kiss him back, but I pressed him gently down into the mattress, and he let me, tilting his head back to bare his throat, which I covered with suckling kisses. He pushed up against my thigh, and I could feel the thick cylinder of his erection rubbing against me. Not for the first time, I felt a distinct pang of jealousy. Okay, so obsessing over the size of your cock all the time is stupid, but when you're so much less hung than both your lovers, it's difficult _not_ to. 

"Shouri?" 

"You're making me feel inadequate again," I said, forcing a tremulous smile and gesturing downward. 

His smile was real—wry, affectionate. "Sometimes a smaller phallus is more convenient . . . and this is a dream, love. You should be able to will such a simple change in your body without difficulty, and without consequences in the real world . . . although if you were to choose to practice wachsenar, now would not be such a bad time for it. We will not be doing much of anything for a few days, so you would have time to adjust." 

Adjust . . . yeah, I would need to adjust, if I tried it in the real world. Even compressed inside my clothing, having such a big package would affect the way I moved, walked, sat . . . and even with a few days of breathing room, the middle of a desperate secret mission probably wasn't the best time to experiment that way. But here . . . 

I let out a breath and closed my eyes. How had it felt, in the memory-dreams, to be hung that way? The size and the weight of it . . . how it reacted to being touched . . . Reality fuzzed for a moment, and when it came back, it was . . . subtly different. 

"Now _that_ ," Shin'ou said, leering, "is a proper cock." 

Geneus sighed. "Always so vulgar." 

I twisted and reached down, wanting to both see and feel what I'd done. I couldn't get it all in my hand, not even nearly. Twenty-five centimetres? Maybe closer to thirty. I wasn't even going to try to estimate how thick. And all of it hard. 

Geneus' hand closed on the shaft above mine, and his thumb smeared fluid lightly over the tip. I whimpered, because the sensation, the tortuously slow drag of skin against sensitive skin, was so intense that I barely knew how to interpret it. 

"Beautiful," came the whispered word, the dark Sage's breath warm against my hair. He continued to stroke me, finding his way slowly down to my balls. I wasn't sure whether those had grown too, or they had just become extremely sensitive—they felt like they were the size of mikan oranges as his fingertips traced over them. "You will share it with me, will you not, Shouri?" The way he spread his legs made it clear what he meant by that. 

"Anything you want," I husked back. I kissed him, and he spread his legs wider and shifted the angle of his hips, offering himself. I sat back on my heels, ignoring the irritated noise he made—dream or no dream, I was afraid I was going to hurt him if I couldn't see what I was doing. My drooling cock looked so large, and his hole was so small . . . I gathered a drop of fluid on my fingertip and smoothed it over the pucker, and Geneus made one of those erotic little throaty sounds as I began to push my finger into him, into a place where I'd had my cock but never my hand, until now. Kind of backwards, when you thought about it. 

He felt hot. And slick, which couldn't be normal . . . but then this was a dream. My fingers slid in and out of him easily, even when I added a second, then a third. Shin'ou groaned, his eyes fixed on the movement of my hand, and I bit my lip to keep myself from doing the same. The feeling of his body dragging at my fingers was indescribable—especially when I imagined it was my cock instead. I shivered as he made another of those little noises and all but flung his head to one side, pressing back onto me. _So beautiful, and all for me._

I guess it was at around that time that he decided he'd had enough, because as I withdrew from him, there was an unexpected movement that reversed our positions in a sudden tumble of limbs. I landed on my back with Geneus straddling my hips, and he immediately reached behind himself to grasp my cock and guide it into position. His eyes locked with mine, and I could feel the heat in them as he rose up on his knees, then began to lower himself back down, pressing himself onto my cock until the head popped into his body and he slid easily down the shaft. I mewled and tried to grab at his hips, but all I succeeded in doing was digging my nails into his skin as I went half-blind with the pleasure of being encased within his body. 

" _Perfect,_ " said the soft voice, and off to my left I heard a groan. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Shin'ou struggling against the ropes, thrusting his hips helplessly through the short distance he was permitted, over and over again, and making desperate whimpering noises. What did we look like from his perspective as Geneus began to ride me, sheathing my body in heavenly heat? Pale skin against my own darker, more golden body, the tumble of loose black hair, dislodged from its braid . . . the shaft of my cock becoming briefly visible between us as Geneus rose, and then disappearing again as he lowered himself back down . . . _oh, Spirits_ . . . I came hard, thrusting up into Geneus' body, feeling my balls empty themselves with what seemed like tortuous slowness—it felt like their capacity had increased to match the size of my cock. And Geneus reached down and stroked himself in time with my spurts until he came too, splattering all over my stomach. 

Shin'ou was writhing so hard I was surprised the ropes weren't cutting into him, panting and thrusting and making odd little keening sounds, with sweat breaking out on his forehead. Geneus pretended to ignore him for a few moments more as he separated himself from me, but I could see the direction of his sidelong glances even if Shin'ou was too preoccupied. Free of my cock, the dark Sage sat back on his heels and reached over to smooth a stray lock of blonde hair away from a sweaty forehead, causing glazed blue eyes to focus on him. 

"Please," the god-king gasped. 

"'Please' what?" Geneus' expression was indifferent, but we all knew it was a mask, hiding his true feelings rather than expressing them. 

"Please fuck me!" 

All that earned him was a swat on the ass. "I have told you before not to be vulgar—what if you were to slip at the wrong moment? If you want us, there is something else you will need to say first." 

"I'm sorry for acting like a fool," Shin'ou said instantly. "I know it's a stupid way to try to draw your attention, but it feels sometimes like the two of you are turning away from me—" 

"Idiot," Geneus said affectionately, and kissed him on the cheek. Silently, I reached over and slipped my hand under one of the ropes to place it over his heart. "Have you not realized? Any pair of us, alone, is unbalanced. Each of us has something that the others need. And we both love you as much as we love each other . . . although there are times when I find it difficult to understand why!" 

"Sometimes I do too," Shin'ou said softly, the expression on his face oddly vulnerable. "Even Shouri is wiser than I will ever be, and you . . ." 

"And yet, even as a ghost, your zest for life is unmatched," Geneus said, tracing the interweaving of the ropes with his finger. "Shouri and I are dutiful sorts. Sometimes we need to be reminded what it is like to want something for ourselves—for no better reason than that we want it. We do need you, Magnus, and I doubt that will ever change." 

"Saïré . . ." 

"Shh. I thought you wanted to make love." 

"You've been keeping me on the edge for what feels like hours and only _now_ do you mention—" 

"Shut up," I said, and leaned in to steal a kiss from him. Shin'ou responded aggressively, fucking my mouth with his tongue. 

"I want a taste of you," he said as I pulled away. 

I looked down at my cock, which was starting to harden again, and then at him. "Are you sure? I mean . . ." 

"Dreams, remember? We don't have to worry about being sanitary." 

It was almost funny, I reflected, that he could sound so authoritative while bound hand and foot with silk ropes, lying with his face almost pressed against my knee, and an erection that had to be driving him insane. I shifted around, arranging us so that Shin'ou's head was in my lap, and shuddered as I felt the first touch of his lips and tongue on my cock, teasing me until I was fully erect. 

"I'm going to take you in," the blonde man said after a few moments of that. "Just don't push forward too fast—it's more difficult for me to suppress my gag reflex when I'm startled." 

_Are you serious?_ Looking down at him, I bit back the question. Judging from his expression, yes, he absolutely _was_ serious, and he intended to enjoy every bit of it. 

He swallowed down the head of my cock as though it were the best thing he'd ever tasted, and I began to slowly push the shaft past his lips. I grabbed fistfuls of blonde hair as I attempted to control myself despite the sensations of _hot_ and _wet_ and the little appreciative sounds he was making. 

I paused in my slow forward movement as I saw Geneus grip Shin'ou by the hips and help him roll over onto his stomach. The blonde man didn't stop sucking my cock as pale hands spread his ass, but he wailed around the thick mouthful as Geneus thrust forward into him—not hard, but it still pushed him a bit further onto me. I was about to ask him if he was okay, maybe even pull back, but when I looked down, he deliberately caught my eye and winked at me, so I figured he was fine. He made more soft, contented noises as he reached the point where I could feel his breath, warm and moist, against the skin above the base of my cock—in fact, judging from the vibration, I would have sworn he was purring. That drew a moan from me, and then another. Meanwhile, Geneus had braced Shin'ou's hips more firmly and was giving him a thorough fucking from behind. I made one shallow thrust, then another, and he sucked me back down each time. 

One minute, two . . . and then the warmth and the suction and the visual of Geneus' thick, pale cock moving between Shin'ou's ass-cheeks just got to be too much, and I came, emptying myself down his throat with a low groan. Judging from the shuddering and the muffled noises, Shin'ou came moments later, and then Geneus, with a soft cry that lingered in the air out of all proportion to its volume. 

I pulled myself slowly out of the blonde man's mouth. Even soft, the size of my adjusted cock was scary, but in a good way. _Someday,_ I promised myself. Someday when I wasn't on a ship to nowhere on a quest to rescue my brother's soul. 

"Mmh," Shin'ou murmured when he was finally free to speak. "I don't suppose you two could untie me? I really don't want to move." 

A fond smile lit Geneus' face. "I suppose we can manage that." 

It must have taken half an hour to untie him, with me hindering as much as I helped . . . but Shin'ou didn't seem to mind. He even laughed a couple of times as we tangled him in the ropes. I think he may still have been smiling when we fell asleep inside the dream, tangled together in a heap. I know I was.


	19. Chapter 19

"I'm starting to wonder why I ever wanted to learn this," I said, looking ruefully at the welt that Shin'ou's practice sword had just left on my arm. 

"You're doing quite well, given that it's been less than a month since you started," Conrad said. "But it might be best to stop for today. Besides, from the look of that sky, we may be in for a bit of rain soon." 

"Sorry," the god-king said with a sympathetic grimace as he lowered his wooden mock-weapon. "I seem to be overcompensating for my lack of reach now. Which isn't exactly an improvement. Regretting we didn't bring Gisela with us?" 

"No," I said. "If we'd brought her, Adalbert would probably have tagged along too, and that would have been . . ." I made a vague gesture, because I wasn't quite sure what I meant myself. 

"What, von Grantz doesn't appeal to you? I always rather liked his eyes, myself." Shin'ou batted his—Yuuri's—lashes, and I almost gagged, because the resulting mental image was _not_ one I had wanted to see. 

I raised my eyebrows and hefted my practice sword. "You know, I _could_ throw this at you." 

"But you won't." _Because it would be Yuuri who ended up bruised._ My dead-not-dead lover knew me far too well. 

Actually, both of my lovers knew me far too well, as became apparent when I went back to our cabin and found a bathtub full of steaming water, and Geneus lying on the bed, reading a book . . . naked. He stretched sensuously as I entered the room, putting on a show for me, and I closed the door behind me as fast as I could. 

"What if someone else came by and saw you?" I demanded. 

He smiled. "So jealous . . . I told the servants to stay away until they were summoned, a request which I dare say they are quite accustomed to. And the only member of our party who would be likely to charge in without giving me a moment's warning to cover myself is Magnus." 

"And the bath?" 

A soft chuckle. "I thought I might wash your back, before . . ." 

I swallowed. "Yeah." We'd been . . . getting increasingly intimate in the physical world over the past few days—nudity, touching, even hand-jobs—but today, at my insistence, was going to be the day I lost the last tiny vestige of my virginity. And I was, understandably, a bit nervous. Even though it was no big deal. 

I took my clothes off slowly, telling myself that I had nothing to be embarrassed about. Having Conrad and Wolfram and Shin'ou chase me around with practice swords was toning muscles that had previously been a bit soft and slack, and I looked pretty damned good—or that's what I told myself. And Geneus certainly seemed to think so, since his cock was hardening as he watched. It looked a bit odd: I was used to the huge endowment of his dream-self, but currently his real body was still at what I guess must have been his natural size. 

I licked dry lips. "I've been wondering . . . um . . ." I gestured at his crotch, blushing. It was the best I could do. 

He smiled. "I will make it larger eventually, of course, but there is no hurry, and it will be easier this time if I remain smaller." And then his smile turned wicked. "Perhaps I will enlarge it while I am inside you. Would you like that, Shouri? I see that you would." 

I didn't know how I could be blushing so brightly when so much of my blood was rushing to a specific point between my legs. His suggestion was . . . was . . . I couldn't think of the word. "Filthy" was wrong, I knew that. There was nothing about this that should be shameful. "Kinky", maybe? And I really did want it. I could imagine it so clearly: the feeling of being taken, and then slowly, surely stretched wider as he gained in size . . . 

I shook my head so hard I'd swear I felt my brain rattle, and got into the bathtub. The water was still hot, and it felt delicious on the muscles I'd been abusing up on deck . . . although it stung a bit in the welt on my arm. No sooner had I noticed that, though, than pale fingers had closed firmly around my wrist and lifted the arm up so that Geneus could examine it. After a moment, he sighed and cupped his hand over the welt, and I felt the warmth of healing majutsu. 

"I seem to have a tendency to fall for men bent on self-abuse," my black-haired lover said wryly as he let go again. The welt was gone, although there was a band of pinker skin still showing where it had been. 

"More like mutual abuse in this case," I muttered. 

A soft snort. "Magnus has been giving you love-taps, has he?" The water washed around my shoulders as Geneus stepped into the tub and sat down on its edge—it had been designed with that in mind, with a lip twice the width of my hand that was solidly supported by a thick metal side. 

"If that was a love tap, then his tastes are even more warped than I thought. He did apologize afterwards, though . . . and it isn't really his fault that all that bat-swinging Yuuri's been doing for the past ten years gave him a lot more arm and shoulder strength than it looks like he should have." 

"'Bat' . . . ? Ah, that odd game he is so fascinated with. I had forgotten." 

I had a sneaking suspicion that the first image that had popped into Geneus' head had involved the _other_ kind of bat, which would have looked . . . silly. 

His hand caressed my shoulder, and I drew in a shuddering breath, my mind abruptly drawn back to the present . . . and the near future. 

"Shouri, we do not need to proceed if you are uncomfortable." 

I shook my head. "No, I want to. It's just that I'm having a case of stupid nerves. It feels like . . . I don't know . . . like after this, I'm going to have 'likes men _that_ way' written across my forehead for everyone to see, or something." 

"And even if that were to happen, would it be such a horrible fate?" 

I blew out a long breath. "On Earth, yes. It's . . . allowed and legal and all that, but there are still people who don't accept men loving other men. Or women with other women, for that matter. That can make life really difficult. Especially when you intend to run for public office. I do love you both, but my mind keeps chasing itself in circles trying to figure out how to make that work with all the other aspects of my life." 

"In general, I find it is better to be open about such things. People may dislike your choices, but if you attempt to lie and the lie is then made public . . ." 

" . . . they'll hate me for my choices _and_ for being dishonest," I completed with a sigh. "I know. I know I'm being stupid. Unfortunately, knowing it doesn't make the worry go away." 

"You might also fail to attain your ambition for reasons completely outside your control," Geneus pointed out. "Achieving public office in a democracy is, in the end, a popularity contest, and success hinges as much on the quality and actions of your opponents as on your own efforts." 

And that was true too, and I knew it. "Hand me the soap." 

As I scrubbed off the last of the sweat and salt from the sea-spray, I considered consequences. If I never became the metropolitan governor of Tokyo . . . well, it wouldn't really ruin my life. With my majutsu, it was difficult to see how I would be in any physical danger from gay bashers, and if I really felt the need, I could liquidate part of my stock portfolio to finance a bodyguard. 

Of course, I'd already known all that, but it didn't hurt to have it pointed out to me again. 

I stood, letting the water (still miraculously hot . . . were those little crystals I'd noticed below the lip of the tub houseki?) run off me. I turned to face Geneus, who was still sitting at the end of the tub, and leaned down. 

The kiss was delicious and warm. He slid an arm around my neck and, slowly, stood up so that our eyes were on a level. His other arm slipped around my waist, and I found myself stroking his back. Wanting to feel him, the deceptive softness of his skin and the firm muscle underneath. He made one of those sexy little sounds in his throat and pressed his lower body against mine, and, well, it might not have been dream-sized, but there was definitely a hard-on there, rubbing against me. I had one too—I don't know how I could not have had. 

When we finally broke off the kiss, he nodded silently toward the bed, and with a last internal quiver, I gave in, stepping out of the bath onto the folded towel he'd placed on the floor for a quick rubdown, and then sprawling out full-length on the sheets. Geneus grabbed something from the floor beside the bed before settling in beside me—one of the jugs of oil from the cabinet. 

"I had in mind that we would take this slowly," he said, pouring a little of it into the palm of his hand. 

"That's fine," I said. 

"Mmm. Roll over onto your stomach, if you would." 

He started by rubbing my shoulders, spreading the oil over my skin and leaving the scent behind like a phantom in the air—cinnamon, which I found unexpectedly pleasant. I winced as his thumb dug into me suddenly, but afterwards it was clear that a little knot in that muscle had let go. I sighed and tried to relax, to just melt into the mattress, because I hadn't realized until now just how tense I had been since Yuuri's abduction. All tight and wound up and worried . . . I hadn't even realized that it hurt until Geneus started to get the pain out. 

He worked his way methodically down my body, shoulders to lower back to buttocks (never touching the crease, not yet) to thighs to calves to feet, turning me into a boneless puddle on the sheets. 

"Feeling better?" my black-haired lover asked as he worked at the sole of my foot with his thumbs. 

"Yeah," I said. "Sleepy, a bit." 

A chuckle. "I doubt that part will continue for much longer." 

Gentle hands spread my ass, and a slick finger ran along the crack, teasing at the pucker it found there. _Just like the dreams,_ I told myself, and buried my face in a pillow that smelled of Geneus. 

When the finger pushed inside me, it stung a little, making me hiss. It had never hurt in the dreams, not even a little. Geneus went back to rubbing my ass with his other hand until the tension the tiny pain had induced left me again. I think he managed to get some more oil in there too, because when his finger began to push forward again, there was only the faint discomfort of being stretched. 

And then his finger curled and found my prostate, and I groaned and pushed back as the pleasure shot through me, wanting more. 

He worked me with his fingers for a long time, stretching and loosening and stroking me from the inside, and I gritted my teeth and focused on not coming. Not quite yet. Not until he was properly inside me. And I definitely wasn't sleepy anymore, although I still felt surprisingly relaxed. 

"I want to see you," I said as his hand withdrew for what I somehow sensed would be the last time. 

"Roll over, then." 

I did, shifting the pillows around to prop my head up a bit as I watched him reposition himself between my legs. I felt him align himself with the head of his cock settling against my loosened sphincter . . . and then he leaned forward and ran both thumbs firmly over my nipples. They'd been abnormally sensitive ever since my pregnancy, as though the insane mix of hormones had woken up extra nerves that refused to go back to sleep, and his touch sent unexpected pleasure sizzling through my body. 

While I was still recovering from that, he pushed his way inside me in a single, smooth motion . . . then stopped. I grimaced at the achy feeling of being stretched again, but it was the sudden warmth of majutsu healing that took me by surprise—was he actually focusing it through his cock? Was that even _possible_? Evidently, because he was doing it, easing me, making my body relax and open to accommodate him better. 

It was only when the vague pain was completely gone that he began to move, a long, well-oiled stroke of his cock that made the head rub against my prostate. I groaned and reached down to curl my hand around my erection, and met his hand there, reaching for me as well. We ended up with our fingers interlaced around me, squeezing gently, Geneus' thumb stroking the head in a gesture that was becoming familiar. 

_Not a dream,_ I thought as we both sped up, motions becoming almost frantic. There was a solidity to this that didn't exist in the familiar room inside our heads. But there was also the aching imbalance of something missing, and this time I couldn't conjure up a phantom of our third lover as I had once done for the man now rising above me. _We need him, too._

I climaxed with a sigh rather than a scream, spending myself all over our conjoined hands as I clamped down on Geneus, who gave a low moan as he came inside me. 

When our fingers slid apart, he raised his splattered hand to his face, tongue licking out to taste—to sample my essence so that he could replicate it exactly for our lover. Curious, I did the same, and grimaced. Without what must have been fond memories rising out of both their subconscious minds to colour the experience, it tasted pretty awful: salt, bitter, almost fishy . . . or maybe that was just the smell. 

"I guess it's an acquired taste," I muttered out loud, and got a weary smile from my lover. 

Was dream sex better? I wondered about that, turning it over in my mind as we stepped back into the bath for a quick rinse. The dreams certainly idealized away the dirty, sticky, messy, and incidentally uncomfortable (as opposed to intentionally uncomfortable) bits, but was that dishonest? People didn't have sex in order to experience those bits—we did it for the other parts. Maybe it was only dishonest if you forgot the icky bits were there? 

I couldn't make up my mind. I doubted even Geneus had a good answer for that kind of question. 

By unspoken agreement, we had a light supper brought to us rather than going down to the main dining room, and ate it dressed in the complimentary robes that had come with the room rather than bothering to put proper clothes on. The scent of cinnamon-imbued oil hid that of sex when we went back to the bed and fell asleep cuddled together. 

We both woke in the middle of the night as the bed suddenly dropped out from under us, leaving us in what felt like free-fall for a second before suddenly whomping us from below. 

"What the hell . . . ?" I muttered, reaching for my glasses. 

"We just slid down the side of a wave taller than the ship," Geneus said. "And if my senses do not deceive me, the air outside is full of much more than the usual amount of water. The weather we were seeing earlier today seems to have been the forward edge of a storm." 

Now that he mentioned it, I could feel it too: lots of rain and spray, falling at an angle—carried by the wind? And the waves were huge. 

"Are we in danger?" I asked, feeling Geneus slide out of bed. 

The houjutsu light fixture bolted to the wall beside our porthole snapped on. "Our safety under these circumstances depends entirely on the quality of the ship's construction and maintenance and the skills of its master, none of which are factors we can control. I suggest we be ready to get up on deck at a moment's notice, although open boats will be a poor refuge in this." He gestured at the porthole, or more likely at the rain being driven against its surface. 

I nodded grimly and got out of bed too. The ship listed as I grabbed for my pants, sending both of us staggering. 

We both dressed quickly, and I worked my way around the edge of our cabin to the door, using the wall to keep myself from falling over. 

"Shouri—" 

"I'm going to the other cabin!" I had to half-shout to make myself heard over the creaking and groaning of the ship. "If we lose Yuuri's body—" 

"I understand." Geneus somehow managed to time his movement against the next heave of the ship so that he skidded down the tilted floor to the corridor-side wall and got the door open. And kept me from falling through it. 

We were staggering down the hall with our hands linked so that we could support ourselves against both walls each time a wave hit when there was a sudden sound of rending timber and the end-wall buckled inward, instantly putting us in water up to our waists, with more pouring in. There were people shouting, several doors along the hall opening—and then the ship twisted violently, and there were splintered timbers everywhere, and water— 

I refused to let go of Geneus' hand, even when a massive chunk of wood hit me in the stomach and the air escaped my lungs in a gasp of pain. Water flooded in to replace it as I reflexively drew a breath, and although it felt awful, I didn't seem to be losing consciousness. I vaguely remembered a conversation—something about strong water-wielding Mazoku being able to breathe water—but Geneus' element was earth, and although he seemed to be holding his breath as hard as he could right now, his survival time was going to be measured in seconds, unless— 

I activated my majutsu, and foxfire light flared around me. _Please_. I didn't even know who I was asking for help—the spirits, maybe? But my aura travelled up over our conjoined hands to envelop Geneus just as, with a tortured expression, he was forced to let what must have been the last of his air bubble out of him. I saw his eyes widen, and then he turned to me with a relieved smile and tugged on my arm, drawing us closer together. He put his arms around me, his front pressed to my back, and began to kick us forward through the soup of timber that was all that remained of the ship. At first, I thought he was taking us to the surface, but then I felt a familiar beacon of power up ahead: Shin'ou. Which meant Yuuri's body, too. 

He was unconscious when we found him, pinned under a mattress that was slowly dragging him down toward the seabed, but he revived almost instantly when I reached out my power to envelop him, too. We rearranged ourselves, linking arms with me in the center, and I felt Geneus feed a trickle of majutsu into me. Between that and my position between them, the message was clear: I was to concentrate on keeping us from drowning while they worked on moving us. 

I forced myself to close my eyes. It wrenched at me that we couldn't go back for Murata, for Conrad—even for Wolfram—but really, how many people could I keep breathing down here? My maryoku was considerable, but it was also finite. I'd just have to hope that they'd made it out on their own. 

We swam for what felt like a very long time, always below the waves—I guess Geneus and Shin'ou figured there was no point in surfacing with the storm going on. They took turns feeding me power, and somehow it was just barely enough. It must have been hours before I started to hear the sound of breakers, and feel shallow-water currents dragging us inexorably forward. 

I staggered up onto a sandy beach with my lovers supporting me, and we all coughed the water out of our lungs. Somehow, we managed to drag ourselves out of the reach of the waves before collapsing, senseless, on the ground.


	20. Chapter 20

I woke feeling like someone had been rasping sandpaper over the inside of my throat. I coughed painfully, staring up at a bright sun filtered through what looked like palm tree fronds. 

Someone helped me into a sitting position, and a roundish thing was shoved into my hands. "Here, drink this." My brother's voice, but the face that thrust itself into my field of vision had brown hair and blue eyes. 

"Shin'ou," I croaked as the recent past rushed back. 

"Drink," the ancient king repeated. 

The thing he'd pushed into my hands looked like three-quarters of a coconut, filled with clear liquid. I took a sip, and discovered it was too sweet to be water. Good, though, and as I drank it down, my throat became less raspy. 

"Where are we?" I asked when I'd reduced the liquid level by half. Looking around showed me beach on one side of us and a tangle of undergrowth on the other. 

"Mbahata," came the reply. "Or so Saïré says." 

"Well, it is supposed to be the only island in the area that's larger than a postage stamp," I said, looking around again. It looked like this place was a jungle once you got off the beach, which had to mean that there was fresh water around somewhere. "Where is he?" 

"Looking for breakfast. I would have preferred to go myself, but I don't know the first thing about tropical plants," the dead king admitted with a grimace. "So I've been sitting here watching you sleep and trying to sharpen this." He held up a good-sized stick whose end looked like it had been roughly abraded from rubbing it on a rock. It was just starting to narrow to something that might eventually become a point. "Unless you're carrying something that we didn't find, we don't have so much as a pocket knife between the three of us, and I'm . . . really not happy with that. This is enemy territory, and there's a lot of houseki around, even if it isn't very high-grade. I'm going to get sick if I try to use much majutsu, not to mention that I might set fire to the jungle. Although I'm glad I couldn't convince Morgif to come along, now—if I had, he'd be terrorizing the fish at the bottom of the ocean." 

"Better that I make a stone point for you than that you try to create a workable weapon from a green stick alone." Geneus' voice seemed to emerge from nowhere, and Shin'ou almost dropped his proto-spear on his foot. A moment later, our lover stepped out of the undergrowth with an armload of fruit and roots. The fruit—bright red ovals and creamy-yellow globes—was passed out immediately with the observation that the red ones need to be peeled. They turned out to be intensely orange inside, and taste a little like bananas. The other ones were just sweet and bland. 

I kept sneaking glances at the roots, because I doubted that Geneus had brought them back without a reason, but we were all too hungry for a question-and-answer session just then . . . and even if we hadn't been, there were more important things to talk about. 

"We aren't going to be able to move around freely here, are we?" I said while Shin'ou was still licking fruit juice off his fingers. "Not if traders aren't landing, and everyone here looks like the guys we saw in Rega, with brown skin and those tattoos." 

"Brown dye," Geneus said, touching a pile of fibrous, branching roots. "And black," he added—shorter, thicker, greenish ones. "I will not say that it will be easy, but it can be done. We will need to start with tools, however. I wonder how many lifetimes it has been since I last attempted to weave a basket . . . ?" 

The baskets ended up pitiful and lopsided, but once they were plastered with mud they were able to hold water and slices of root and hot rocks to heat the mixture and turn it into dye. Geneus' earth majutsu allowed him to split rocks exactly the way he wanted, which gave us a couple of stone knives that were surprisingly comfortable in the hand and a spearpoint that Shin'ou received with delight. Shin'ou and I cut reeds for baskets and chewed a couple of sticks to make crude paintbrushes and smashed apart coconuts (it turned out that the thing Shin'ou had given me to drink from really had been a coconut) to get at the liquid and meat and healed Geneus' hands when he gashed them open on the reeds we'd cut and tended the tiny fire Shin'ou had started with his majutsu. 

Geneus insisted that we be thorough with the brown dye, and while I did understand his point, the damned stuff stung, especially on sensitive tissues like eyelids . . . and my scrotum. I think my balls tried to crawl up into my body cavity as I rubbed the stuff in. Somehow, we all ended up uniformly brown instead of blotchy. 

The black dye was worse, in a way. I'd figured out a while ago that the tattoos weren't just random, but it turned out that they were writing of sorts, explaining a person's family history and professional status, and Geneus grimly admitted that there were holes in his knowledge in addition to the two-thousand-years-out-of-date problem. He was hoping that regional variation would cover for some of it, since each village had had its own, slightly different, tattooing system, but we would be taking a pretty big risk, and the less time we spent with people, the better. He sketched out each section with charcoal before painting it in, and the sketching involved many deep frowns and hesitations. 

"So who are we?" I asked as he laboured over my left thigh. 

"I am a houjutsu sorcerer, newly created master. You will be my apprentice, having come to your calling somewhat late—it is the best way to explain our abilities, although it will mean we need to carry houseki. Magnus will be your younger brother, a warrior-initiate. We are all from the same small village on the far side of the island, unmarried, and childless. I am not certain what the status of . . . public displays of affection between men . . . is here at the moment, so it is likely best that we be . . . circumspect, at least for the time being." 

"Right." I held myself motionless as he dipped his stick-brush in the basket of dye and began to paint me in long, curving lines. 

"It would be easier if we could avoid other people altogether," he said, biting his lower lip as he executed a particularly intricate set of swirls, "but sneaking through the jungle would also draw attention . . . and we would have to spend a great deal of our time cutting underbrush out of the way. It would also be rather easy to become lost. I need to get at the back of your leg." 

I half-rolled onto my side, propping myself up on my elbow so that he could continue his current swirling line around the side and up my ass to the small of my back. "And if the others washed up here, we need to find them," I said. 

"If the others washed up here, they're probably in a lot of trouble," Shin'ou said from where he stood practicing with his spear. Geneus had finished with him already, leaving him with swirls all over his chest and arms. Anyone who knew Yuuri back on Earth would never have recognized him. 

Inwardly, I sighed. If it turned out that the local people were cannibals or made human sacrifices to a volcano or something, well, that would be just my luck. Except that given the flaky weirdness of this world, they'd probably turn out to have some nasty quirk no one from Earth had ever thought of. In addition to soul stealing, I mean. 

When we were done painting each other, we packed up the shirts we wouldn't be wearing (the locals avoided clothing that would hide their upper-body tattoos, although the ones between waist and knees were considered private), plus some fruit and the baskets and the two stone knives, and began to pick our way along the edge of the beach, far enough up to keep us under the shade of the trees. It was kind of a nice walk at first, even if the footing was uneven: a warm day, with a gentle breeze off the ocean ruffling our hair . . . 

"I just had a horrible thought," I said. "Geneus, you're the only one of us who speaks Djalt, and even yours is old-fashioned to the point where you have a hard time communicating. Isn't anyone going to notice that?" 

"There used to be multiple dialects. I am hoping that is still the case. And I was working with . . . Murata . . . while we were on board the ship in order to improve my comprehension of the modern language. Hopefully that will be sufficient. If not . . . well, you will need to be ready, since your water majutsu is likely to cause less unnecessary destruction than anything Magnus or I could do with our powers." 

"Great." I sniffed, and frowned. "Ugh, that smell . . ." 

Geneus was frowning too. Hell, even Shin'ou was. 

"Even if something from the shipwreck washed ashore, it should not have become nearly so malodorous yet." 

"In other words, something around here's been dead for a couple of days," Shin'ou added. "Hopefully, it's just a fish." 

It wasn't, of course, although it turned out to be . . . well, not _good_ , but it could have been a lot worse. We found the body at the edge of the forest half an hour later, and it clearly wasn't anyone we knew: an old man, with grey hair still clinging to his scalp and chin. He'd died sitting up, and his body was now curled forward over his lap. I had to hold my nose just to get within ten feet, but Geneus walked right up to the corpse, and Shin'ou prodded it casually with the butt of his spear until it fell back into a prone position. 

There was a sealed stone jar in the dead man's lap, braced between the palms of bony hands. And his chest had been carved open with three long cuts in a bird-track formation. There was something stamped on the lid of the jar, too. To me, it just looked like a bug squished under a deformed triangle, but it deepened Geneus' frown to the point that lines started to appear on his forehead. 

"'Unworthy'," he said aloud. "Or possibly 'drowned', but that makes even less sense." 

"But unworthy of what?" Shin'ou said. 

"Depends on what's in the jar, I guess," I put in. 

"It is about the right size for a soul bottle," Geneus said. "Magnus, lend me your spear for a moment." 

Shin'ou handed him the stone-tipped stick. I expected the Sage to use it to tease the jar from between the dead hands, but instead he manipulated the corpse's limbs for a moment, and flipped the poor bastard's skirt of wilted leaves up . . . although there wasn't a heck of a lot left underneath, since the local insect life had gone to town on the soft tissues. I shuddered. 

"It is difficult to be certain with so little skin left," Geneus said at length, "but I believe this man was a priest—of their storm god, not of the Kyel-bware. A moment." _Now_ he prodded the bottle from the dead hands, and squatted down to tug the stopper loose. The surface of the sphere that popped out rippled with colour, and its surface writhed with small lumps as it shot up into the air and vanished. We all watched it go. 

"Theocracy," Geneus said grimly. Shin'ou and I both blinked at him. 

"Saïré, could you please unpack that?" 

"The island is closed to traders, indicating that there is something going on that the inhabitants do not want outsiders to see, and yet the Kyel-bware feel secure enough to make their way to other nations to steal souls. A priest of another faith is found murdered and unburied, far from any settlement, dressed in the meanest clothing the island has to offer, with his soul in a jar, marked 'unworthy' . . . and more than that, I think he had been ill-fed for some time before his death, although given the condition of the remains it is again difficult to be certain. All of it points to the Kyel-bware having recently risen to, if not complete rulership of the island, then at least unexpected prominence. And they are likely to be suspicious of strangers." 

I muttered several four-letter words in English. My lovers looked like they both agreed with the sentiment. 

"We'll have to do our best to keep a low profile," Shin'ou said. 

"Which means we'd better get as far from this—" I gestured at the corpse. "—as we can, as quickly as we can manage." 

Geneus nodded. "Judging from the curvature of the beach, we must be coming up on a headland. We will make better time by cutting straight through the trees." 

At first, we did. That was before we found the stream, of course. And the marshy area around it. We had to go further inland than we had intended to find somewhere to cross. And then, well, I couldn't really say we got _lost_ , because we'd had no idea of where we were in the first place, and Geneus had begun blazing trees with one of the stone knives about halfway through, so we _might_ have been able to find our way back to the corpse. Or not. Likewise, it might have been around noon that Shin'ou shimmied up a tree to pick some more of those red-skinned fruits and nearly got Yuuri's nose bitten off by a pissed-off green monkey-lizard thing. Or not, since we couldn't see the sky, and no one had a watch. At least the water in the stream was cool and clear. 

"Do you think it's Wolfram's father that's responsible for . . . whatever's going on here?" I asked as I fiddled with a red banana peel. 

"Unlikely on the face of it," Geneus said. "The timing is wrong for him to be the only motive force. Something else must have happened." 

"He has to be involved somehow, though," Shin'ou said, picking something multi-legged and about the length of my finger off his shoulder and giving it a sour look before he tossed it into a bush. "Otherwise, that cultist we met in Rega wouldn't have been so . . . fascinated with our young blonde friend." 

"We need to find someone who can answer questions," I said, which got nods of agreement all 'round. 

By midafternoon we'd found our way to the beach, although this section wasn't as clean as the one we'd washed up on. Instead, it was littered with chunks of wood and canvas . . . and random sex toys, which made the whole thing feel kind of surreal. Thankfully, we didn't find any more corpses. We did find a dozen good-sized chunks of houseki, attached to what Geneus said had been part of the water purification system, and pried some loose. A little messing around with some twine (also found in the wreckage) and Geneus and I each had a stone slung from our belts to aid our imposture as houjutsu sorcerers. That prompted my dark-haired lover to provide me with some basic instruction in houjutsu as we walked along, and I discovered that actually _using_ one of the stones did make me queasy, even if I wasn't doing more than making it glow. Still, it was nice to be able to light our evening fire myself, instead of relying on Shin'ou, when we bedded down in a hollow at the bottom of a cliff that was just a little too shallow to be called a cave. 

I woke up the next morning damp, cold, aching, and with a growing aversion to the red-skinned, orange-fleshed, oval almost-bananas—to all fruit, really. I wanted something savoury and, ideally, salty. I had to content myself with coconut toasted over the coals of our fire, though. The alternative was catching and cooking a fish, which would have taken too much time, since I wasn't about to take Shin'ou's tongue-in-cheek suggestion of wood grubs seriously. I mean, there were plenty around, and they were probably technically edible, but the idea made my stomach squirm worse than the houseki. 

The early morning mist hadn't yet burned off when we found the boat. It was clearly from the cruise ship, since its name was painted in elaborate swashed letters on the boat's side, and it had been pulled up well past the waterline. There were a lot of footprints around it and a visible path of churned-up sand leading away along the shore. 

Geneus knelt beside a patch of sand that was darker than the rest, right under the boat's shadow. "Blood," he said after contemplating it for a moment. "And from the way the sand is scuffed up, there was some sort of struggle here." 

"Survivors?" I asked. 

"Most likely." 

Rescued by the islanders, or captured and taken away? _How could you even tell?_ A struggle resulting on blood didn't sound like a good sign, but I could easily see how someone might have gotten hysterical when they found out they were going to be trapped here for spirits-knew-how-long. It was better to reserve judgement until we knew for sure what had happened. 

Shin'ou had been poking around in the boat itself. Now he straightened up and held out two objects. "Murata was here, and so was Lord Weller." 

The cell phone I recognized immediately, although I hadn't known that Murata had brought it with him on the trip. He must have sprung for a waterproof model, too, and some kind of solar charger, because when I swiped my thumb across the screen, it woke up and displayed a time sometime after three AM, and an irritated note that there was no signal. I did a cursory check to confirm the owner, just in case it had popped in from Earth through an unrelated vortex or something, and set it back inside the boat—Murata might not be happy about that, but carrying it with us was too risky right now. 

It took me a moment to recognize the other thing, which looked like a googly-eyed, brightly-coloured bug. Then I remembered a Japanese cafe and a bunch of truly tasteless keychains Wolfram had given out to Yuuri and to his brothers after Jose Rodriguez won them from a crane game. 

"Let's hope that Wolfram was with them," I said. 

"There might have been other boats," Shin'ou pointed out. 

"However, I suspect that Lord von Bielefeld would have wanted to come to this island," Geneus said, rising from his crouch. "Even if he never said so. But I doubt there is anything else we can discover here. Shall we?" He gestured in the direction of the trail of churned sand that represented the path the people on the boat must have taken away from here. 

The next stream emerging onto the beach had a wood-and-rope bridge spanning it right at the edge of the trees, and from there it didn't take us long to find ourselves on an actual pathway that had been artificially smoothed, straightened, and widened. It led away from the shore and into the jungle, curling up a hillside, and deposited us on the edge of a low cliff overlooking a river. To our left was a path down the cliff face that led to another bridge, and on the far side of it was a village. 

Given the setting, I'd been half-expecting one-room grass huts, but from the look of it, these people lived in substantial buildings made of stone, all jumbled together and sharing their outside walls. Lots of places to hide, but it was going to be hell to find anything down there. Or anyone. 

The people wandering around outside seemed to be dressed more or less like we were, in trousers of various lengths, with sandals on their feet. None of the men wore anything on their upper bodies, although some of the women did have a sling-like garment supporting their breasts. Little kids seemed to be allowed to go naked, and usually did . . . allowing a better view of their tattoos, although they didn't have as many as the adults. 

We all kind of looked at each other. I think we'd been hoping that we'd be able to catch someone alone and question him or her, but that wasn't likely to work out when there were a couple of hundred people wandering around. 

"We're going to have to go down there," I said, since it looked like no one else was going to. "How are we going to work this?" 

Geneus frowned, tapping his chin. "I have required you to take a vow of silence until the next new moon as part of your training in discipline—that is unusual, but not unheard of. Magnus took a blow to the head as a child that robbed him of coherent speech, and to some extent of the understanding of it. You will both have to stay close to me, so that I can intervene if anyone addresses you." 

"So I'm a mute semi-idiot?" Shin'ou asked. He sounded amused. 

"You are welcome to propose a better idea if you have one. Having different reasons for each of you not to speak will, I hope, make the whole imposture less odd . . . to the extent that we can prevent it from looking odd." 

We made our way down the path and crossed the bridge into the town . . . and no one seemed to notice us. Or at least, no one paid much attention to Shin'ou and me. Geneus got a few stares, and when we paused at an intersection, one woman ran her hand down his braid and made a laughing comment. He smiled and said something back that made her laugh even harder. Then there was the man who grabbed Geneus by the arm and almost dragged him over to a food stall, all the while explaining . . . something . . . at the top of his lungs. When he finally ran down, Geneus gave a martyred sigh and bent over the grill built into the stall's countertop, placing one hand on the houseki dangling from his belt, which flared briefly to life. He looked a bit greenish afterwards, so I touched his shoulder and channeled a bit of healing into him, for which I got a grateful nod. The stall-owner grinned and gave us a handful of copper coins and one skewer each of charcoal-grilled vegetables and mystery meat. Geneus bit into his without hesitation, so I did too—it was wonderful after having had only fruit for two days. 

As we went deeper into the settlement, the buildings began to get larger and more ornate. I started seeing a lot of people wearing gold jewelry, some of it quite heavy, and their clothes came in a wider variety of colours than the people in the outer city. It didn't take a genius to figure out that we were walking through a wealthy district. 

At the center of it all was a soaring building of white stone that reminded me of a European cathedral. Geneus led us up the wide steps and through the open double doors. Inside, the scent of some kind of incense came close to choking me. It took a lot of willpower not to hold my nose. 

Someone had carved a massive image into the far wall: spread hands with something round hovering above them, surrounded by a band of pictographic writing. And there were a lot of guys with shaven heads and soul bottles around their necks scattered around the room, chatting or feeding incense into braziers or accepting objects and placing them on the table below the spread-hands-and-globe frieze . . . _Oh, hell, I think we're in a Kyel-bware temple._ I could think of any number of reasons Geneus might have wanted to come here—to ask about any captured "unbelievers" or just to look pious and make the church happy with us—but it was one hell of a thing to spring on Shin'ou and I without any warning, and I wished he'd been able to teach us more than a couple of words of Djalt during our trek along the beaches. If we did something stupid here, we were . . . well, not _dead_ exactly, but we'd most likely have to fight our way out, and that much majutsu would make a real mess of the surrounding area. I didn't have Yuuri's ability to blast entire cities while at the same time somehow keeping track of the location of every living being in the vicinity and seeing that they didn't come to harm, and I doubted Shin'ou or Geneus could pull that off either, although I could be wrong. We'd just have to hope nothing happened. 

Geneus approached one of the priests, and I held my breath while he spoke to the shaven-headed man and offered what had to be another chunk of houseki prized from the ship's water purification system. The priest accepted it, and they exchanged bows and a little more conversation. Then he led the way out again, walking quickly and looking neither left nor right until he suddenly ducked down an alleyway between two large houses. Around another corner, and then he stopped in his tracks, beckoned us in close, and laid his hand on his houseki again. The air around us . . . changed somehow, making my ears pop, and Geneus leaned back against the wall to our left, looking pale. 

"We can talk freely here while I maintain the sound barrier," he said. "The most important thing is that a ceremony known as 'The Conversion of the Infidels' will be held at noon tomorrow. I pretended a provincial's ignorance with the priest, and he implied that they are only interested in converting the _souls_ of their unbelievers, if you understand what I mean." 

Unfortunately, I was pretty sure I did. "Crap. So we've got less than twenty-four hours for a jailbreak." 

Geneus nodded, mouth setting into a grim line. "And I am not even certain where the jail is. All this houseki is interfering with my attempts to find other sources of maryoku." 

"Murata is that way," Shin'ou said, pointing. 

"You are certain?" 

"All I had to do was look for something that felt like you," the dead king said, smiling at his lover of four thousand years. 

"I am not sure whether I should be flattered or offended." But Geneus was smiling gently too. "So . . . first we change the other extra houseki I took for money—they are of better quality than can be mined on the island, and should fetch a fair price. Then we look for the jail. And tonight . . ." 

I grimaced and nodded. _Tonight, we orchestrate a jailbreak._


	21. Chapter 21

I bit back a curse as I hit an unexpected rising step in the dark. My bare toes throbbed with pain, but I didn't dare channel any healing into them—not here and now. There was always the risk that they had something that could detect majutsu, either passed down through the generations or acquired from Wolfram's father somehow, although no alarm had been raised when Geneus used his powers to pick the lock on the side door we'd entered through. 

The jail had turned out to be right behind the temple. We'd been lucky on one point: the guards ordered take-out every night, and Geneus had bribed the boy running the errand to let him spike the food with a sopoforic, spinning him some story about needing to have a private conversation with one of the inmates about a gambling debt—we'd discovered that gambling for stakes wasn't legal under the current Kyel-bware regime, although it inevitably happened anyway. So it was possible that we didn't need to sneak around with so much care, but we couldn't take the risk quite yet. 

My outstretched arm struck stone. I felt my way cautiously around the corner . . . and suddenly there was light, peeking out from under a door up ahead. I could see a kneeling shadow beckoning to me: Geneus, who had been in the lead. 

I crouched down beside him, and a moment later heard the soft sound of Shin'ou's breathing on my other side. 

"Four," Geneus whispered, gesturing at the keyhole—which was what the errand boy had told us. "Asleep," he added, and I think we all throttled back sighs of relief. "Wait." 

I still didn't understand how he could use earth majutsu on door locks—the level of finesse involved was far beyond anything I had ever achieved with water, although I'd practiced with quiet relentlessness both here and on Earth. Clearly he _could_ do it, though, because this door opened under his hand just like the last one had, allowing us into a room where a trio of torches provided flickering light for the dice game the four snoring guards appeared to have fallen asleep over. The front door was to our left, and a grate of bronze bars to our left must open on the cell block. The darkness on its far side stank of unwashed people, and I grimaced as Geneus lifted a ring of keys from a hook. There were a dozen or more of them, but he found the right one on his first try. Which I hoped with his majutsu at work again, because otherwise it was positively uncanny. 

I took advantage of the pause to heal my bruised toes and put my sandals back on. We still needed to avoid waking the guards, but _perfect_ quiet wasn't necessary anymore, and if there had been a majutsu detector around, it would have picked up Geneus' lock-fiddling. Shin'ou watched the guards, face set, his spear held in a grip that would allow him to bring it into action quickly, although hopefully he wouldn't need to. We still had a chance to get out of this without killing anyone. 

Shin'ou thought to grab one of the torches, so that we could see into the eight stinking cells on the other side of the grate. All of them were occupied, most by more than one person. All of them stared at us as we walked past, but only from the farthest cell on the right did we hear any voices. 

"I was starting to think you would never show up, Shibuya's-big-brother." 

"I considered leaving you here, friend-of-my-brother," I replied, "but I figured Yuuri would never forgive me. Um, Conrad, Wolfram?" 

"I'm here," said Conrad. "As for Wolfram—" 

"He was noticed," Murata said. "They took him away a couple of hours after they locked us up." 

"Took him where?" I asked as Geneus turned a key in the lock of their cell. 

"Inland, probably. To the main temple. Or at least, that's the impression I got from what I overheard." 

"Well, staying here would have been a bad idea anyway," Shin'ou observed as Murata limped out of the cell. Conrad, following, had a split lip, but I doubted that was going to slow him down, so it was Murata I offered healing to. The Great Sage sighed with relief as the swelling in his ankle visibly went down. 

"Thanks, Shibuya's-big-brother—I might even be able to run if I need to." 

There were eyes gleaming at us from the other cells now. Some were brown-skinned, but none of them had tattoos, and a few belonged to people that I recognized as having been on the cruise ship. I muttered a curse. How were we ever going to get all of them off this island? Even Yuuri and Shin'ou and I all working together weren't going to be able to haul more than a dozen or so along the Water Wormhole Express, and I was pretty sure we had double that. But at the same time, we couldn't leave them here—if we did, they'd be executed. 

Well, the first step was getting them out of here. "Before we let you all out of your cells," I said, trying to make sure that everyone heard me without being loud enough to wake the guards, "there are a few things you need to know. First, there are four guards asleep right out there, so be quiet and keep your comments to yourselves until we're out of the building, or even better, out of town. Second thing is, we don't have a way to get everyone off the island yet, but we're working on it. We're probably going to have to steal some kind of boat. Third thing is, we—that is, the five of us—have to get the other member of our party back before we can leave the island. If some of you want to steal your own boat and leave, you're welcome to try, but don't drag us into it." 

There was some muttering. I just hoped they'd figured out who we all were—for all I knew, they might think that Geneus and Shin'ou and I were all natives. 

"Unlock the doors," I told Geneus, and he went to work. "Conrad, do we have any idea where they took your sword?" 

"Somewhere off the guard room," Murata offered. "They were talking about a dice game to see who got the best stuff." 

I took a deep, slow breath, in and out. "Okay. You and Sh— _Magnus_ help these people get organized while we see if there's an evidence room or something." 

Geneus and Conrad and I padded back out into the room with the sleeping guards and looked around. There were _three_ closed, locked doors in addition to the ones we'd passed through and the one that had to lead outside by the shortest route. I swallowed a sigh and pointed to the leftmost. 

It was the center one, and it was full of junk—old clothes and such—that even the guards hadn't wanted, in addition to the stuff from the latest arrivals. In addition to Conrad's sword, we found another, slightly rusty, that Geneus appropriated after cleaning and sharpening it with a little majutsu—"for Magnus", as he explained—plus a couple of mildewed-looking backpacks that were still better than carrying our shirts slung over our shoulders, and a set of tin camping cookware and a couple of other odds and ends. It wasn't up to the standards of our original equipment, but it would help. A lot of the stuff in the closet-sized room was solid mold, though, killed by the humidity. 

Back inside the cell block, Murata and Shin'ou had gotten everyone out of the tiny, barred rooms and into the hallway, but it was obvious there were going to be problems. One woman had both arms slung over the shoulders of two of the men, her left foot held up off the ground, and a man with a crude bandage across his temple was being half-guided, half-supported by a woman who might or might not have been his wife. There were a couple of other people with pale faces and set expressions, but whatever was wrong with them wasn't immediately apparent. 

"Shit," I muttered. 

"Actually, Montezuma's Revenge won't start to be a problem for a few more days," Murata said cheerfully—I don't think the strangers realized quite how forced it was. "She—" He nodded at the woman who couldn't stand. "—has a broken leg, and he—" That was the man. "—got hit by some floating junk before they could haul him out of the water, and he's been seeing double, dizzy, and disoriented ever since—probably concussed, but I didn't have any way of telling for sure, and even if I had, there wouldn't have been anything I could do without a houseki." 

I almost offered him the one dangling from my belt, but realized in time that what he was _really_ doing was offering cover for our majutsu . . . and maybe gently reminding us that these people, although they might not be from Mbahata, weren't Mazoku, and so couldn't really be considered allies. 

Geneus was already approaching the concussed man, so I took a deep breath and went for the woman. I'd never tried to heal a broken bone before, and I didn't know if I could do it all at once, but if it speeded things up I was willing to try. 

I could, I discovered, at least feel the fracture, which was along rather than through the smaller structural bone in the lower part of her leg. I remembered to use a little houjutsu to light up the houseki at my belt as I started pushing healing energy into it. The woman smiled in relief as the swelling around the bone went down. 

"You need to sort of clamp the edges of the break together and get the cells to stick to one another," Murata offered—in Japanese. "Visualizing it melding together will help." 

"Thanks," I muttered, and meant it. 

I was acutely aware that every second counted, and my focus narrowed so much that I jumped when Geneus touched my shoulder. 

"Enough, Shouri. You should not exhaust yourself. She will be able to walk now." And indeed, the woman had her foot on the ground, although she was still leaning on one of her male companions. "We need to leave before the guards wake." 

We guided the various strangers out through the guardroom and through the side door that we'd entered by. Geneus carefully relocked all the doors behind us and hung the keys he'd used back on their hook—purely for the confusion value, as he observed. It might be morning before the guards realized that their prisoners were gone. 

Outside, the night was warm and humid, but the sky was clear, and the stars shone down on us. The moon was almost full—a good thing, overall. It might make us a bit more visible, but it considerably reduced the number of people tripping over stuff in the dark. 

We'd spent a chunk of the afternoon scouting our route out of town, which turned out to be fortunate, because there were patrols on the three major streets, and avoiding a fight is a Good Thing when you have noncombatants and injured people in tow. As it was, only five of us could be considered armed: Geneus and myself with our majutsu, Conrad and Shin'ou with swords (and more majutsu, in Shin'ou's case), and one of the men from the boat, with Shin'ou's stone-tipped spear. We could take one (or all three) of the guard patrols if it came to that, but we would have woken the entire town doing it, and who knew where things would have ended after that? I didn't, that was for sure. The whole island engulfed in flames and sinking into the ocean, maybe . . . which was _not_ what we needed. 

We'd planned everything as carefully as we could, but with almost thirty people trying to move through an unfamiliar settlement in dead silence, it was almost inevitable that something would go wrong, and, well, something did. I'm not even entirely sure what. Someone tripped, I think, and grabbed something while they were trying to get their balance back, and brought down a pile of junk. Whatever happened, it was noisy, and we all heard yells and the sounds of running feet as the guards began to converge on the scene. 

We'd planned for this too, and Geneus, Shin'ou, and I exchanged grim nods. Geneus and I stopped, and I searched with my mind for the nearest source of water. Barrels, cisterns, gutter run-off . . . the river, three blocks away. Water dragons rose at my command, and there were cries of surprise and fear all around me. Geneus had his hand on my shoulder, poised to feed me extra power, and using the least thread of concentration to make the houseki we were both carrying glow. 

"Keep moving!" Shin'ou said from behind us, and I think he might have pushed someone. "They can only buy us so much time." 

"Haven't you ever seen houjutsu before?" Murata added. 

Footsteps from behind. More footsteps from in front, and I poised my dragons to strike. Thirty men, armed with spears and swords, the latter in various styles that suggested they had been traded for or scavenged from shipwrecks rather than manufactured locally. A couple of them also carried weird triangular knives, which confused me for a moment until I remembered a stone blade sticking out of a corpse in a Japanese apartment. 

"No boomerangs," I muttered. _And no houseki, thankfully._

"From what I remember, those were primarily hunting weapons. Do you think you can hold so many?" 

"I just have to scare them." _Right._ Three of the men had feathers braided into their hair, and on the theory that they were the officers, I grabbed them first, wrapping water dragons around them and lifting them off the ground, then waving them around, flipping them upside down, and so on. _Maximum disorientation, minimum damage._ One of them passed out, and the bladder of another one let go, briefly staining part of the serpentine creature that held him yellowish. 

Several of the other men began attacking my water dragons, stabbing or slashing at them, which was good—as long as they were playing with them, they weren't coming after Geneus or me. Unfortunately, the third of the guys I'd grabbed was made of sterner stuff than the other two, and he pointed at us and yelled. Most of the others ignored him, but a couple of them started for us, spears extended to thrust. 

Geneus pointed a finger, and the shafts of their spears blazed with sudden flame, causing both men to drop their weapons—whether that was houjutsu, or majutsu with a conjugate element, I couldn't have told you, but it was effective. I sent a quick lash of water over the charred weapons and their owners to reduce the risk of burning anything or anyone else, and then whacked another group of men across their chests with a water dragon's tail, sending them stumbling backward into the wall of a building. How long had we been at this? One minute, two, three? We'd been intending to try for five, if we thought we could get away with it. 

Then I nearly got hit over the head with a boomerang. I swore and dodged, but a barrage of others followed. Gritting my teeth, I dumped the water dragons, sweeping our friends with the swords and spears off their feet as the water, free to do what it wanted, headed back downhill toward the river, and used my power to form a shield instead. In the instant of breathing space that followed, I tracked a boomerang back to the roof of a nearby building—one of the other patrols must have seen what was going on and gotten wise. 

"Can you burn them?" I asked Geneus, pointing at one of the flying weapons. That I couldn't keep the shield up for long went unsaid—he would know how much energy that sort of thing took. 

He shook his head. "They would need to stay in one place for several seconds, in a location nearer to me than that rooftop. I suggest we retreat for now, and perhaps set up a second bottleneck in a place where better cover is available." 

I nodded, and together, we began to back up. One step, two . . . We were almost at the mouth of an alley that would have afforded us some cover when something under my heel rolled, and I staggered and lost control of my shield. Geneus covered us with a shield of his own almost instantly, but "almost" wasn't good enough under those circumstances, and he lost it again as a boomerang that had snuck past thumped hard against his shoulder. I gritted my teeth and covered my head with my arms, bracing for impact. 

There was a loud crackle and a _fwoom!_ , and fine, red-hot grit sprinkled itself over the inside of my left wrist, but nothing larger than that struck me. 

"Shouri! Saïré! Over here, quickly!" 

Yuuri's voice and Shin'ou's words, and I uncurled and staggered forward into the alley, trusting my safety to the dead god-king. 

There were more odd noises, and I got my back to the wall of a building just in time to see another boomerang go up in flame. Shin'ou seemed to have no trouble at all igniting moving targets, which I guess was the difference between a natural fire wielder using his element and whatever Geneus had been doing. He had his sword out, too, holding it in what I'd learned to recognize as a guard position. If he'd been in his own body, he might have looked formidable. As it was, he still managed to look grimly determined . . . but also a little silly. 

"You were supposed to stay with the others," Geneus said as he flattened himself against the wall beside me. 

"Lord Weller and your not-twin seem to have things under control," came the (slightly smug) reply. "Besides, where would you two be if I hadn't shown up? I doubt we'd be able to pull off another jailbreak so soon after the first one, so if you'd gotten captured, I might have had to burn down the town. Sending me away wasn't the wisest thing you could have done, O Wise One. You're slipping." 

"I had underestimated our opponents," Geneus admitted. "It is not an error that I will make again." 

His tone was light enough, but the grim set of his jaw and the cold brilliance of his eyes suggested that, in the end, it would turn out to be the Kyel-bware who had made the mistake.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor trigger warning: rape mentioned, but it's kept off-camera.

It turned out that escaping was the easy part. Hiding nearly thirty people in the jungle while being hunted by houjutsu sorcerers who knew the area a whole lot better than we did was the hard one. 

Murata was the one who came up with the solution—well, okay, strictly speaking Shin'ou stumbled on it first, but Murata was the one who figured out what it meant. 

We were crouched under some thick, spiky bushes, wet with dew and wincing every time we brushed up against the thorns, while we waited for Geneus or Shin'ou and Conrad (who was, once again, taking his bodyguard job seriously) or one of the two men from the boat who had some jungle experience and had volunteered to scout to come back with some news of a better hiding place when Shin'ou . . . did. Although no one knew that at first, including Shin'ou himself—he just staggered back into the bushy area, squatted down beside me, winced, and picked a thorn out of his arm. Conrad sat down beside him, silently. 

"There's a lot of marsh in the area we were checking out," Shin'ou reported to Murata and I. "I didn't think it was worth slogging through it—most of these people—" He waved an arm and winced as he bumped another thorn branch. "—wouldn't last long in there anyway. We did find something else odd, though." 

"Go on," I prompted. 

"It was . . . I guess you would call them platforms. Wooden platforms, strung between the trees on ropes. With corpses on them." 

I recoiled. " _Corpses?_ " 

"The islanders practice burial by exposure—well, except for a couple of groups that used to prefer burial at sea," Murata corrected himself. "The areas where the platforms are strung are taboo when no funeral is being performed . . ." He smiled slowly. "And they're not likely to get any kind of dispensation just because they want to search for a group of fugitives. Given the size of the town we just left, this burial ground probably extends over an acre or more, too." 

Moving people over different paths in small groups (so that we wouldn't leave a trail from the thorn bushes to the burial grounds) took most of the rest of the day. It was nearing sunset by the time that Geneus and I followed one of the men from the boat on his last trip in. 

I knew when we'd crossed the borders of the area by the smell of rotting—I had to swallow several times to keep my lunch down. I didn't actually see any of the platforms until we entered a clearing created by a fallen tree, though, and when I did, it was kind of anticlimactic: just a bunch of boards held together by ropes and strung up like a hammock. 

Geneus touched my arm. "I would not pass under such a fresh platform," he said. "They tend to . . . leak." 

I wrinkled my nose. _Ick._ "This has got to be the least sanitary way of disposing of corpses that I've ever heard of. Why don't they _bury_ them, for crying out loud?" 

A shrug. "Clearing any amount of land here is quite difficult, and it requires either houjutsu or a large quantity of distilled spirits to keep a fire burning long enough and hot enough to dispose of a corpse in this environment. The choice of the platforms over burial at sea or in the swamps was initially founded on a dread of indirect cannibalism through carnivorous fish or land animals, both of which are eaten by the islanders. However, no one eats the carrion birds." 

"And yet, the body of that priest we found was on the ground," I pointed out. 

"And nothing had been eating it but the insects. Some precautions were clearly taken to repel the larger animals." 

"Hmph. And with our luck, they probably don't leave anything useful on the platforms with the bodies, either." 

Geneus shook his head. "Some villagers did at one time, but the Kyel-bware consider a body that has been emptied of its soul to be nothing more than meat. Memorial offerings are given to the temples, not left out here. However, as the area is seldom disturbed, we may at least be able to hope for some useful plants." 

I told myself that that was something at least, but I didn't really believe me. And when the first "useful plant" we found turned out to be one of those damned red pseudo-banana things, I felt oddly vindicated. 

When we got to the new camp, we found two of the woman roasting fish over the embers of a fire while Murata gave Conrad a paint job. Brown skin and the twining patterns of the fake tattoos looked just as odd on Shin Makoku's top swordsman as they did on the rest of us, and Murata, whose base coat of brown dye was still drying, looked like he'd been rolling in mud. 

Geneus crouched down beside the fire and examined Murata's artwork critically. "Seventeen kills? That may stretch someone's suspension of disbelief—a human of Lord Weller's apparent age would be unlikely to have been in so many lethal fights." 

"On the other hand, he's such a good swordsman that I'm not sure anyone who saw him fight would believe it if I gave him any less," Murata said. "Oh, and I found that kelb leaf you wanted . . . I think. I haven't seen any of the stuff in a while, so I figured you'd want to check it yourself. It's over there, near that purple membu." He pointed vaguely. 

"Kelb leaf?" I asked, following Geneus across the encampment. 

"It assists and deepens trance states. I had hoped it would help me impart something of the language here to you and Magnus—with your permission, of course." The plant he knelt beside to examine had odd, waxy, almost greyish leaves, and I looked at it dubiously. "The side effects are nothing that healing majutsu cannot deal with." 

"Fine. We'll do it." I just hoped the leaves that he began to pluck didn't turn out to taste like old socks. 

That turned out to be too optimistic: the three I was given to chew that night before bed, with a warning not to swallow the pulp, were so bitter I nearly gagged, and the face Shin'ou made looked like the ones I remembered from when Yuuri was a little kid and Mom tried to make him eat broccoli. Geneus . . . well, I'm not sure that anyone who didn't know him would have noticed the way the corners of his mouth turned down, but I had the feeling that he didn't like the stuff any more than the rest of us. 

I was feeling slightly dizzy already by the time I spat out the macerated leaves into the palm of my hand, so I lay down immediately in the nest of (ordinary) leaves that would serve as our bed, curled against Geneus' back. Shin'ou had already snuggled up to our mutual lover's front and was dead to the world—I guess Yuuri's body being not quite grown yet must have been working against him. 

I wasn't surprised when I "awoke" in the big, canopied bed in the familiar stone room, but my stomach lurched as I sat up. Part of me felt like I was still on my back, seeing the canopy or with my eyes closed . . . 

"I would suggest that neither of you attempt to move," Geneus murmured. "We are . . . sharing a little more than is usual tonight." 

"I'll say," I muttered, and lowered myself back down again. When my arm brushed Shin'ou's bare shoulder, I would swear I felt both sides of the contact, and the thought seemed to leap between us like a spark: _What would it be like to make love like this?_

"Overwhelming—and, I fear, vaguely nausea-inducing—but if you insist, we can make the attempt. _Afterwards,_ " Geneus added firmly. "Shouri, if you do not mind, I will begin with you, since you are less set in your ways than this blonde fool." 

"What do I need to do?" I asked. 

"Only relax and give yourself over to me." I felt more than saw his frown. "I fear it will not be pleasant, since the memories I have mixed in with the language are . . ." 

_Those of a confused and depressed transsexual,_ I completed for him. "Well, we're not going to get it over with if we don't start," I said, and felt his hand cup the side of my face. 

It was every bit as bad as I had thought it would be, and more. 

_—When he departed his home village for the last time, he left a patch of skin behind him, the one bearing the tattoo that marked him as a member of the village and as a woman. The pain was almost transcendent. Liberating. He would find somewhere where no one knew, and perhaps he would be able to live as he wished to live . . ._

_It was on his third day on the road that they found him. Perhaps they were just robbers, but he was irrationally sure that they knew what he was, even though he had surreptitiously used his stolen houseki as best he could to give his body its proper shape._

Even if they hadn't known to begin with, they discovered it soon enough when they tore off his skirt of leaves and twine and— 

I was breathing hard as I snapped back into the bed in the stone room. I had really _not_ liked where that was going. 

"He was raped?" I asked softly, tasting bile as I voiced the words. 

"Raped, beaten, and left for dead." Geneus somehow managed to speak the words without emotion "It is not the only time I have experienced such. No matter when and where I am born, I always seem to be . . . a little different, out of step with those around me for one reason or another. More often than not, that erupts in hatred." 

"I don't know how you can be so calm about it," I said. 

Geneus smiled. "Because while the hearts of men and women can hold infinite darkness, they can also radiate infinite light—and the tighter the darkness rings a person about, the more they can shine. I have seen both sides, and I prefer to believe in the light . . . but my preferences do not always matter," he admitted with a grimace. "When one is in pain, staggering through the deepest darkness, it can be difficult to find a candle." 

I rolled over, not caring if it made me dizzy, and I hugged him. I could feel the memory of his attack on Shin Makoku's capital twisting inside him, creating pain and shame that scalded us both like acid, and I wanted him to stop hurting. Shin'ou shifted on his far side, and another set of arms settled around Geneus' waist. 

"We've all forgiven you, you know," the dead king said. "None of what happened was your fault, Saïré. We pushed you to the point where anyone would have snapped. I honestly don't know how you managed to hold yourself together for as long as you did." 

"Nevertheless, I should have—" 

Shin'ou put a finger against his lips. "No, you _shouldn't_ have. You shouldn't have _had_ to. Even I can't balance the entire weight of the world on my shoulders." 

"If you want to talk about guilt, then I have to shoulder some too," I said. "Maybe if I'd tried a little harder, I could have persuaded Murata to leave you in peace. There were a lot of things I regretted not saying—or doing—afterwards." 

"Shouri . . ." 

"Next time, I'm not just going to walk away," I said. "I'm going to fight—for you, and for us." I kissed him, just gently, and felt a long shiver run through him as a deep-down pain was . . . not soothed, not entirely, but lessened. 

"We're going to do everything we can to see that you're never hurt again," Shin'ou added. "I never imagined what kind of burden I would be placing on you . . . I'm sorry, old friend." 

There was an odd, faint marking on Geneus' face, and when I touched it, I discovered it was damp. Shin'ou propped himself up on an elbow to trace it too, the track of the first tear either of us had ever seen the dark Sage shed. I tried to show him everything I was feeling through our odd, drug-induced gestalt, my love and the aching, desperate need to protect him—to protect both of them . . . and I felt the dam burst inside him. 

Centuries of tears, and we both held him as he wept them, letting loose grief and fear and pain that one man should never have had to bear alone . . . and from this point on, he _wouldn't_. From the deep resonance of the thought, I suspected that Shin'ou was thinking much the same thing. We would never be able to protect him completely, our proud and beautiful Sage—and if we could, he would have resented us for it—but from now on, when he needed support, we would be there. Always. 

We both waited patiently while he cried himself out. He deserved that, and so much more as well . . . but right now, patience and understanding were what we had to offer him. Not until the torrent started to lessen did I begin to experiment with kissing the tears away, which made him shiver again and fasten his lips hungrily on mine. 

"You know," Shin'ou said after a few moments of that, "while I'm certainly enjoying the view, you still owe me a language lesson." 

Geneus smiled as he broke the kiss. "And you shall have it." 

We didn't make love that night. We tried, but it turned into such a comedy of errors that we ended up doing more laughing than kissing. Still, something about that must have been cathartic, because I felt unexpectedly relaxed when I woke up the next morning. By the smiles on their faces, so did Geneus and Shin'ou . . . even though we all knew that we would be going into unknown dangers. 

We adjusted our story over breakfast to handle two extra people. Shin'ou was now apprenticed to Conrad, Murata and I were _both_ Geneus' apprentices, and we were all looking for . . . well, that part just about made me spew coconut water through my nose. 

"Seriously?" I said. "A _wife hunt_?" 

Murata shrugged. "Well, you have to admit, Shibuya's-big-brother—marriageable women are one thing that a village could reasonably be short of through no fault of its own." 

"But—" I bit down on my lower lip, but my automatic glance at Geneus, then at Shin'ou, must have given me away, because Murata looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh. 

"If you and your boyfriends really can't play along, we'll have to think of something else, I guess," he said. "Come to think of it, Lord Weller might have a bit of a hard time explaining it too, when he gets back." 

"Josak knows better than anyone that deception is sometimes necessary in enemy territory," Conrad said calmly, and this time I _did_ spew coconut water through my nose. _Okay, I knew the two of them were close, but I never thought they were_ that _close._ "Besides, our relationship is more . . . I think on Earth, you would describe it as 'friends with benefits'. Either of us can break it off at any time with no hard feelings." 

"That's more than I wanted to know," I muttered, wiping my face, and Murata snickered at me. 

"If you think you're that bad an actor, I guess we can go with the story that I'm the village chieftain's son, _I'm_ looking for a wife, and my paranoid father sent the rest of you along as my bodyguards," the young Sage said cheerfully. 

I was tempted to throw my (empty) coconut at him, but I knew that if I screwed up and broke his glasses, he'd have a difficult time fixing or replacing them here. I'd seen one or two bespectacled natives during our raid on the town, but it hadn't been common, and anyway, they might have been the wrong kind of lenses—hadn't it taken centuries to get from the first glasses, meant to correct for farsightedness, to anything at all that could correct for being nearsighted? The thought made me want to shiver and cuddle my own precious, precious glasses, because stumbling around unable to clearly see anything more than a metre away from me would shift this little expedition from "very difficult" to "impossible". 

"We'll rely on your flirting skills, then," Shin'ou said teasingly, and Murata gave us all a seated bow. 

But there were other things that I was really more worried about. 

"Are they going to be okay?" I asked, gesturing at the twenty or so strangers with whom we were sharing the clearing. 

There was a soft cough from behind me. "Begging your pardon, m'lord, but I think we'll be better off without you." 

Twisting to look over my shoulder, I discovered that the man who had approached us wore the remains of a ship's uniform—I believe he'd said he'd been the boatswain, when we'd all exchanged brief introductions, which had made him the most senior of the crewmen on the boat. 

"I'm not a lord," I said. 

The boatswain snorted. "Sir merchant, then—but if you weren't born to a noble family, I'll eat my rating's papers. You've got that quirk of acting like, if you're not around, no one else is going to get anything done . . . though you're politer about it than most, I'll grant." 

I flushed and muttered, "Sorry." I hadn't realized that Bob's attempts to train me had sunk in so deeply, but maybe I should have. 

"Heh. Like I said: polite, but you don't even realize you're trying to take charge, do you? Anyway, I figure—and most of the rest of us do as well, so I guess I should say _we_ figure—that our best chance right now is to do nothing, wait until the hunt dies down a bit, then send those as look most local to the nearest harbour to steal a boat. Traipsing around in the jungle looking for that little blonde friend of yours's likely to draw more attention than we want. We 'preciate you busting us out of jail and all, but it's time we parted ways with your lot. Better for all of us, since trailing us along behind you'd draw attention too, if we were wanting to come." 

"You're sure? I mean, you're okay with finding food, and the language—" I bit the tip of my tongue to force myself to shut up, because I knew I was starting to sound like a busybody. 

Another snort from the boatswain. "Most of us have more jungle experience than any of you do—though the little four-eyes knows a thing or two about this island in partic'lar that the rest of us didn't, I admit—and a couple have enough Djalt to get by, if we can find any local types that're willing to talk to us. We'll be fine. Better than you, likely, but you'll pardon me if I'm not worried enough to go with you." 

Now Shin'ou was the one that snorted. "That's quite all right. Good luck to you and yours." 

"And to you as well," the boatswain replied. "Figure you've got the tougher reach to sail." 

So in the end, it was the five of us alone in the jungle. We headed off in a direction Murata and Geneus agreed was north, toward higher ground, fighting our way through undergrowth and marshy lowlands. It was midafternoon and several kilometers later that we finally found a road. 

I was a bit surprised that it was actually recognizable _as_ a road, vegetation-free and paved with fitted blocks of stone, instead of being one of those glorified animal tracks that most people from this world called roads. It even had ditches on either side. 

There was no argument about whether we were going to follow it. It was headed in the right direction, and we were going to have to test our disguise, and Shin'ou's and my mastery of the language, sooner or later. Not to mention that we were making crappy time slogging through the jungle, and we had to get to the central temple before the summer solstice—still more than a month away, and the island wasn't that big, but if we got lost among the trees we might never get there. 

The first person we met was a woman headed in the other direction, carrying a basket on her back. She gestured a casual greeting in our direction, but otherwise ignored us. Then a man with a sword at his belt and a quartet of youths a little younger than Yuuri, all carrying spears, overtook us from behind at a hard jog. 

"Ha—only one trainee?" the strange man said, slowing a bit so that he could address Conrad. "You have it easy, my friend!" 

Shin'ou smirked and touched the hilt of his sword. "Believe me, I'm good enough to absorb all of my teacher's attention." _I guess this means the language transfer took, for both of us._

I don't know how much of what was going on Conrad understood, but he gave the stranger a smile and a shrug, as though to say, _what can you do?_ The other man chuckled and waved and took off after the boys. 

Murata gave the rest of us a crooked grin. "I'm starting to think that we might survive this." 

It wasn't anything I would have called a pleasant trip. Twice we opted to hide in the jungle while groups of Kyel-bware priests passed by, towing guards in their wake. And there were some very awkward moments when people tried to strike up conversations with Conrad. Usually Shin'ou managed to head them off, but there was one particularly insistent caravan guard who refused to go away until Geneus did some kind of houjutsu mind trick on him. Afterwards, Geneus himself was ill for hours despite everything Shin'ou and I could do—apparently that type of houjutsu was even worse for Mazoku than the simpler, more violent sorts. 

It took us five miserable days to get from the shore to the inland capital, five days of walking uphill with sore feet through the hot, humid air with clouds of mosquitoes buzzing around our ears, trying to avoid drawing the attention of too many people, since it was clear whenever we did come to someone's notice that they thought we talked funny. 

It was near sunset on the fifth day that we crested one last hill and saw the city laid out in front of us, a gigantic hexagon centered around a five-storey stone pyramid that wouldn't have been out of place in the jungles of South America . . . except that it, too, had six sides. Around it, the city was laid out in six wedges, with wide streets in between. And it was big and crowded—not on an Earth scale, but bigger than anything I had seen in this world so far. 

Tens of thousands of people. Thousands of buildings. And mixed in among them somewhere, Yuuri's soul, and Wolfram. If we could find them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm likely even more nearsighted than Shouri is, and believe me, I would cuddle my glasses in a situation like that.


	23. Chapter 23

"Pretty much every plan we could come up with amounts to a variation on 'sneak into the pyramid'," I said, glaring at the thing from where I sat perched on the broad stone windowsill of a second-storey inn room. "Except for the one that goes, 'blow the top off the pyramid with majutsu and hope we can get in and get out before they get organized enough to do anything about it,'" I added. "And I think we're all agreed that that's . . . a last resort at best." 

I probably hadn't even needed to say it. None of the people in the room with me were stupid—in fact, of the five of us, I was probably the most inexperienced. Shin'ou looked amused at my comments. So did Murata. Geneus was frowning at nothing, and Conrad . . . well, that little smile of his didn't mean anything, I knew, and he had more than half his attention on the door anyway. Ready to stab anyone who came in without knocking first. 

"The easiest way to gain access to the pyramid's interior is likely the same one as we used before: walk up to them and make an offering," Geneus said. 

"I find it difficult to believe that their security is so weak," Conrad said. 

Murata shrugged. "This isn't like Shin'ou's Temple. The Kyel-bware cult is an active, proselytizing religion. They feel they have something to prove, so they're going to make as many opportunities as they can to show off. Still, we're going to need an offering worthy of their high priests, and a few chunks of houseki aren't going to cut it this time." He nibbled on his lower lip. 

"Something they value," I said slowly. _Something that we can get ahold of in a hurry._

"Something that could reasonably have come from this island, or the surrounding waters," Geneus added. "We do not want to give them any reason to connect us with foreign lands. But that does not leave many options." 

"We should have had Shouri dive for black pearls while we were still at the seashore," Murata said. "Up here, it's going to be a lot more difficult." 

"What _do_ they value?" Shin'ou asked. "Luxuries and the means of production—that's the same everywhere. Houseki, clearly, but we don't have enough. Jewels and dyestuffs. Boats. Steel, judging from the fact that most of the swords we've seen are hand-me-downs. They don't appear to do slaves. What?" 

"A decade and more of lectures on the subject of economics, and I never once thought you were listening to me," Geneus said, with a wry smile. "I suppose I am not as good a judge of men as I believed." 

"I always listened," Shin'ou said. "I like the sound of your voice. But if I'd admitted that I understood, you would have stopped lecturing me." The cheeky grin didn't look right on Yuuri's face either. My brother certainly could grin, but never quite that way. 

"More likely we would have changed the subject," Murata said. "There are hundreds of things it would have been useful for you to know that we were never able to get to because you kept on acting pig-headed." 

"He wouldn't have been the same man if he didn't act that way," I muttered, then cleared my throat. "You missed one thing in your enumeration: souls." 

Geneus raised an eyebrow. "True, I suppose, but we are scarcely likely to find one just lying around." 

"But you know what one would feel like to a houjutsu user, right? Could you fake it?" Really, I was just throwing stuff at the wall to see if something stuck, and I was a little surprised when he seemed to consider it seriously. 

"I think . . . perhaps . . . but I would need to experiment. And we would need a soul bottle." 

"I think I can manage that," Murata said. "If you don't mind me borrowing your houseki, that is, Shibuya's-big-brother." We'd picked up one for him in a tiny village along the way, but it was much lower-grade than the ones we'd taken from the wrecked ship. 

I glared at the faceted rock dangling from my belt. It glittered back at me. "As far as I'm concerned, friend-of-my-brother, you can keep it. It isn't like I can use it as anything more than an oversized cigarette lighter." 

"Mmh, well, you wouldn't make a very convincing apprentice sorcerer without it. But I might keep it after we go back home. Take it back to Earth, even, and confuse the heck out of some poor geologist." 

"'Geologist'?" Geneus asked, getting the Japanese word Murata had used right the first time. 

"Someone who studies rocks, where they can be found, how they're formed—that sort of thing," I said. 

"Ah. The new plan, then: we create a soul jar that looks like those used by the cult—it does not matter if it is not to the modern standard—and place a false soul inside. We bring it to the temple claiming that it was found when breaking ground for a new field, and we brought it to the high temple in person hoping for a larger reward. I expect they will let us in for at least long enough to examine it, if it is full and appears to be properly sealed." 

"We'll need the materials to make the jar and seal it." Murata took up the planning without missing a beat. "Raw clay, beeswax, and a certain kind of leaves . . . We should be able to get them from one of the markets." 

I licked my lips. "You know, I haven't been keeping very good track . . . How long do we have? Before the solstice?" We'd discovered Yuuri's soul was missing one month and two days before the solstice. We'd reached Rega on the afternoon of the ninth day after that, and left on the morning of the tenth. Seven days here on Mbahata . . . or was it eight? Nine, even? I wasn't sure how long it had taken to swim here from the wreck site. Actually, I wasn't entirely sure how long we'd been on the honeymoon cruise, either. The days slipped and slid around when I tried to count them. And I suddenly realized something else, as well. _Oh, hell, I don't know how long a month is, here!_ I'd been assuming thirty days, but a real lunar month on Earth is only twenty-eight . . . and this wasn't even Earth. 

Suddenly, no one would meet my eyes. 

"Two more days," Murata said, staring at the floor. My gaze shot to Geneus, begging him to contradict . . . but my dark lover nodded. 

"We thought you knew," Conrad said. 

_Deep breaths, Shouri. Deep breaths. Don't panic. Don't hyperventilate. Don't freak out. It wouldn't do any good, anyway. Time . . . moves forward. We can't stop it. We just have to make the best of what we have._

"Okay," I said. "As timetables go, that one sucks, but we'll just have to work with it. Can we get the stuff to make the soul jar before tomorrow morning?" 

Murata shook his head. 

"Okay," I repeated. "Then . . . as quickly as you can?" 

"Of course, Shibuya's-big-brother." 

"The timetable, as you put it, is perhaps not entirely in our disfavour," Geneus put in. "Members of the cult will be coming here from all parts of the island to attend the ceremony. In the confusion, strangers may be . . . less remarked than usual, at the temple." 

"That's something, anyway," I said. _Calm._ "So, I guess we . . . might as well turn in for the night, if there's nothing further we can do now." 

The meeting broke up. We'd rented two rooms, which meant that Geneus and I had a private one. It was smaller than the other, and the window wasn't big enough for me to sit on the sill, but at least I wouldn't be able to feel Murata staring at me all night. 

I went to the window anyway, and jittered from foot to foot, staring at that damned pyramid, outlined in burning torches against the darkening sky. 

"Shouri." Geneus' arms closed around me from behind, his bare chest warm against my back. "I know it is the last thing you want to do, but nevertheless, you should come to bed. You will need to be well-rested tomorrow. I will spell you to sleep." 

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Choking back my pride, because it wasn't _manly_ to admit you were worried enough to be insomniac. 

The stone-walled room with the gigantic bed was beginning to feel almost like home, although that might be because it had been the one constant location in my life over the past few weeks. I returned to consciousness there flanked by two other bodies, with two sets of arms wrapped around me. 

"I've missed you," Shin'ou said, giving me a quick kiss. "Both of you," he added as he came up for air. 

"Were it not for your tone, I might almost believe you," Geneus said . . . but when I looked at him, he was smiling. 

"I _have_ missed both of you," Shin'ou repeated. "Next time we go on a holiday in the jungle, we're going to ensure that our schedule is leisurely enough that we won't be too tired for sex, even in dreams. But I think we need to concentrate on Shouri tonight." 

"On me?" 

"You _are_ the one who is under the most pressure here," Geneus said as Shin'ou started to kiss his way down my throat. "A distraction will do you good." He leaned forward and began to nibble lightly on my ear. 

"I have an idea," Shin'ou murmured against my skin. 

"That's a dangerous thought," I said, and heard Geneus chuckle. 

"Oh, believe me, you'll like it," my golden-haired lover said. "Well, once you get used to it." 

"Dangerous," I repeated, the groaned as he rubbed his thumb firmly across my left nipple. I really was much too sensitive there. 

The distraction kept me from realizing that Shin'ou was reaching under the bed until he had pulled out a good-sized wooden box. He leaned over the side of the mattress and began to rummage through the interior. Curious—and nervous—I sat up to get a better look, and instantly wished I hadn't, because the collection of sex toys inside was, if anything, larger than what the cruise ship had hidden in its cabinets. Well, okay, there weren't any whips, and only one paddle, but I'd never seen that many dildos in one place before. Or wanted to. 

Shin'ou didn't appear to be after a dildo, though. Instead, he was rummaging through a bag that, judging from the sounds, held several small, metallic somethings. He resurfaced with something hidden inside his closed hand, which I stared at apprehensively. 

" _Magnus,_ " Geneus said, his tone holding a warning. 

Shin'ou smirked and opened his hand. Resting in his palm were two small . . . padded . . . clamps? "I wasn't about to take out the stronger ones. The idea is to work _with_ Shouri's unusual sensitivity—" He pinched a nipple gently, and I swallowed back another moan, because I didn't want to encourage him just then. "—not against it. These don't even qualify as proper nipple clamps. They're not painful, they just . . . draw your attention." 

I stared at the two little bits of metal and padding. I was afraid that if I looked away, they might jump out and bite me. "I don't know." 

Geneus reached past me and took one of the clamps. A moment later, I felt something gripping my ear in a firm, but not painful, hold. "These ones are, as he says, not harmful or even especially uncomfortable, but I would suggest avoiding the rest of his collection until you have more experience. Magnus has always enjoyed testing his boundaries." 

I reached up and touched the clamp on my ear. Swallowed. _Why does this feel more kinky than the two of us fucking Shin'ou simultaneously from each end while he's tied up? Kinkier than the candle wax, even? Just because I wasn't the one being . . . done to . . . either of those times, and this time I would be?_

I looked down at the wooden box. Several dildos stared back at me. I swallowed again. I was a bit uncomfortable, but underneath that, I had to admit that I was curious, and more than a bit turned on. And below that? I wasn't sure. Something warm and twisting that I couldn't dredge up to a conscious level. 

"Go ahead," I said to Shin'ou, forcing myself to sound firm. "I trust you." 

The smirk became a real smile, oddly sweet, that lit up those sky-blue eyes. "I promise you won't be disappointed." 

He took the clamp off my ear and placed it in its intended location, and I shuddered at the sudden wash of sensation. He was right about it drawing my attention: the pressure against the sensitive flesh made me unable to ignore it, creating a small area of pleasure that sent feelers down to my rising cock. 

I groaned as the other one went on. My hand crept toward the juncture of my thighs . . . and Shin'ou caught my wrist. 

"Are you trying to suggest that we're of so little use in getting you off that you have to do the work yourself?" he asked, mock-offended. "Or are you just that used to going solo?" 

"What do you think I did before taking up with you two?" I asked, somehow finding the words. 

"Well, you're an attractive young man. You should have had your pick of companions." 

I shook my head. "I wanted to put . . . my time and energy into my education . . ." Shin'ou was tracing an elaborate pattern over my stomach with his fingers, and Geneus was kissing my neck, making it difficult to concentrate. 

Shin'ou chuckled. "So that's why you were so inexperienced." He began to kiss his way down my chest, making me moan as he took one of the clamps between his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. Geneus slid a hand between my thighs, fingertips lightly stroking my balls, a tease and a promise. 

I flushed, then shivered at the ticklish sensation of a tongue plunging into my navel. 

"I'm going to regret it a bit when you lose your last few inhibitions and stop blushing that way. It's cute." Shin'ou punctuated the sentence by blowing on the wet line he'd left down my stomach, and I squirmed involuntarily at the cold. 

"Magnus, you will make him think we were only interested in him because of that inexperience you mentioned." Geneus' tone was severe, but I could also hear the smile in it somehow as I pressed down against his hand, searching for more stimulation. Instead of letting me rub against him, he glided it teasingly back, trailing one finger up the crack in my ass until it pressed lightly against my hole. I made a small sound in my throat as he began to push inside, and Shin'ou, in front, ducked even further down and began licking my cock as though he thought it was a popsicle. Come to think of it, popsicles might be good practice. I'd have to get some when I went ba— 

The second finger slid in easily, and both of them stroked over my prostate, making my thoughts fly right out of my head. My hands had been sliding through Shin'ou's hair. Now they clenched tight against his scalp, trying to find something to hold on to as Geneus slid a third finger in. 

I expected him to withdraw then, but instead he kept right on fucking me with three fingers . . . until he added a fourth. If this hadn't been a dream, I imagine it would have been painful. As it was, I just felt thoroughly stretched, and found myself pushing forward into Shin'ou's mouth, which was open to receive me. 

"Shouri, if this hurts, you must let me know. Even if this is a dream, you are . . . a rather concrete thinker." 

I gathered my thoughts together enough to nod as something else prodded at the ring of muscle I'd thought was already stretched to the limit, and my eyes opened wide. _Seriously?_

The word barely had time to drift through my head before Geneus began to slide his entire hand inside me. I'd heard of fisting, even if I couldn't remember the word just then—it's remarkable what you can find out on the Internet when you're a teenaged boy who's curious about some of the more farfetched scenarios in questionable eroge—but I'd never in my wildest dreams imagined that someone would ever do it to me. And that it would feel so good to have a curled hand pressing against my prostate, and the muscles of my ass clenching helplessly around something so large. 

"So full . . ." I didn't know what the hell I was saying. Hell, I barely even knew that I was _talking_. Geneus was moving his hand gently inside me, pressing harder against my prostate, then backing off again, tempo increasing slowly until it matched the speed at which Shin'ou was bobbing at my cock, and the rhythm and the sensations were hypnotizing me in some odd way, filling my mind until I couldn't think of anything else. I could feel a molten pressure starting in my balls, and I bit my lip and tried to repress it, because I knew that, when I came, this would be over, and I didn't want it to end. 

" _Ngh! Ha-a . . ._ " Meaningless sounds spilled from my mouth as Shin'ou took my cock in all the way to the root and began to hum softly, while Geneus' hand continued to move in a gentle, inexorable rhythm that was being echoed through my entire body. One of them reached another hand in and began massaging a pinioned nipple, and I just couldn't handle it anymore. I clenched Shin'ou's hair even more tightly between my fingers, making helpless noises as the tide of heat rolled up from my balls and I came hard down his throat. 

Slowly, I got my breathing under control as Geneus removed his hand from me. Shin'ou continued nursing on my cock until I was quite soft, only reluctantly releasing me when Geneus reached over and tugged gently on his ear. 

Now it was my turn to reach between their thighs, one hand for each, and I was not at all surprised to find them both still hard. 

"I don't know if I'm ready for round two yet," I said. "That was . . . intense." 

"That was the idea," Shin'ou said with a smirk, as he rearranged himself so that he could kiss me on the mouth. I accepted the kiss (thoroughly), but although it was kind of hot when I considered why his mouth had a certain unusual flavour to it, I still didn't like the taste. Not when it was mine. 

"We can wait for you," Geneus said. "Or, if you would prefer, you can watch." 

I thought about it. Licked my lips. "You know, I haven't seen Magnus take you yet." 

Geneus' eyebrows rose. "It is not something we ever did very often, but if that is what you want to see, I have no objection." 

That Shin'ou didn't mind went without saying—if there was anything sexual that he objected to, I had yet to figure out what it was. Barnyard animals were probably off-limits, though. I hoped. 

Shin'ou sat up. Geneus moved across me to straddle our lover's thighs, somehow sneaking a hand in between my legs in passing and stroking me firmly. They exchanged a kiss, slow and deep, and then another, rubbing against each other quite wantonly, Geneus' cock pressed to Shin'ou's stomach, Shin'ou's sliding along the crack in the dark Sage's ass. 

That wasn't the main event, though, and we all knew it. That didn't start until Geneus raised himself and Shin'ou guided his erection into place. 

The dark Sage impaled himself slowly, with perfect control, looking demurely down—well, it seemed demure until you realized his line of sight had to hit Shin'ou's bare chest, anyway. His long, black hair tumbled loose across both their shoulders. They could have been posing for a work of erotic art—the tableau was too beautiful for simple porn. Not that it wasn't a turn-on. I could feel my cock filling again, and reached down between my thighs to stroke it, arm jostling a nipple clamp. 

Geneus rode his long-time lover with a warm, joyous expression, tossing his head back as Shin'ou gasped and drove harder up into him. I knew that the dark man wouldn't last much longer when he started making those soft, familiar, pleasured sounds in his throat. Shin'ou and I both groaned, almost in unison, and my hand sped up. 

The dark Sage's muscles tautened visibly, and I felt something stir around us, rippling against my maryoku—an oddly pleasurable internal touch that sent heat surging through me. Caught up in the sensation, I wasn't sure whether I was moaning or just panting as my hips pistoned helplessly, pushing my cock into my hand . . . into the grip of three hands, as Geneus and Shin'ou both reached for me, and I could tell that the touch inside me was theirs as well. 

"Love you." I might have said it, or only thought it. I couldn't tell. My maryoku was being stimulated in a way for which I had no words, and I was flying . . . falling . . . _coming_ , oh _spirits_ , except it felt like the orgasm started somewhere deep inside my brain and then rolled down my spine and out in an unending series of waves. My mind just couldn't keep up, and for a very long time, I floated in some place full of light. 

When I came to, I was sitting up, with my forehead pressed against Shin'ou's shoulder and Geneus' hand massaging my back. I had no idea how I'd gotten there, and wasn't sure how I felt, other than overwhelmed . . . and thoroughly sated, of course. 

"Shouri," Geneus said, and I lifted my head so that I could look him in the eye. He was still smiling, gentle and sweet. "Never forget: you are Mazoku, and you are ours, for as long as you will accept us." 

"And don't doubt that we're going to get your brother back," Shin'ou added. "Not just for your sake, either—I'm kind of fond of him too, and I owe him at least that much." 

I wanted to cry. Instead I extended my arms and hugged them both, not caring that I was leaving sticky streaks on Shin'ou's back—he wouldn't have cared either, even if he hadn't been able to wipe them away with a thought. 

Without them, I wasn't sure I would have been able to hope.


	24. Chapter 24

"This time I think I've got it," Murata said, and laid one more jar at the end of the row at the foot of the bed. The line chronicled his attempts to make an acceptable Kyel-bware soul jar, starting with the one that had crumbled as he fired it, leaving leaves sticking out of the clay. There were scorch marks on the rug—that had been another near-disaster, avoided only because the high humidity of the jungle air had allowed me to form a water dragon in less than a second. 

The new jar was symmetrical, well-formed, and uncrumbled, and it had taken hours of experimentation to get it that way. It had taken all of my self-control, after the first couple of failures, not to grab Murata by the shoulders and shake him and yell at him that if he didn't hurry up, we were going to _lose Yuuri_. For good. 

Geneus, seated on the windowsill, held out his hand. Murata passed him the jar, and he gave it a careful examination. When he nodded, I think we all relaxed a bit. 

The dark Sage cupped his hands around the jar and bowed his head, the houseki at his hip flaring to brilliant light that forced me to turn away until it faded. Geneus set the jar down carefully beside him on the windowsill and raised both hands to his head, healing majutsu flowering between them. 

"Are you all right?" Shin'ou and I said it at almost exactly the same moment, in almost exactly the same urgent, worried tone. 

"I have a headache, and a bit of a burn on my hip where the houseki was touching me through my clothing, but it is not serious," Geneus replied. "This body is simply not suited to performing complex houjutsu castings." 

"You did a pretty good job, though," Murata said. "If I didn't know, I would have said this was a real soul—that of an old man who might even have given it up willingly." 

"Then we have our way in," Geneus said. "I do believe that we should eat before assaulting the temple, however. It is almost noon, and it may be quite some time before we have another chance." 

I knew he was right, but I found it difficult to think about food just then, and judging from the way Murata was wrinkling his nose, he felt the same way. I don't know what I ordered in the restaurant across from the inn. It might have been something involving coconut, but it tasted like sawdust. Methodically, I forced myself to clean my plate and empty my glass of fruit juice. Only Shin'ou seemed to be enjoying the meal, but then he had seemed to enjoy every meal he ate while riding in Yuuri's body, even the ubiquitous red bananas. He'd said he didn't have a sense of taste as a ghost. Really, it had to be a pretty boring . . . existence. 

I still trusted him to give up Yuuri's body when the time came. There had never been any question of that. He'd proven four thousand years ago that he was able to give up even the things most important to him for the good of others. I just wished I knew how to make it up to him this time. 

By the time we left the restaurant, the crowd in the streets had grown thicker. So thick that it was difficult to move, especially since a lot of people were just standing in the street rather than going anywhere. And it only got worse as we headed toward the temple. In the end, we were forced to a standstill too. I ground my teeth, but there wasn't much I could do without pushing people out of the way and generally attracting a lot of attention, which was a bad idea. 

It wasn't until I overheard the word "parade" several times that I finally grasped what was going on. It made sense, in a way: there was probably some kind of festival associated with offering up those souls tomorrow, and there was no reason why that _couldn't_ include a parade the day before . . . but something in the way that people were talking about it suggested to me that it was unusual. And I didn't like that at all, because the most likely cause of anything unusual happening on Mbahata right now was us. 

The vanguard of the parade consisted of squads of guards marching in lockstep. They wore polished breastplates and skirts of metal strips and helmets with bright feathers sticking out of the tops, and carried swords, shields, and spears—kind of like Roman legionaries, but with bare, tattooed arms and a tropical flair. I counted five squads of twenty men each. 

When the first cart appeared, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, because it was pulled by goats. Very clean white goats in polished harnesses with green and gold accents, but it still looked ridiculous. And inefficient, given that they appeared to need nearly a dozen goats per cart. The carts were decorated with flowers, and each had one or two people on it besides the driver—given that they were wearing brightly-coloured clothes and gold jewelry and elaborate feather headdresses, they were probably people of local importance, and they smiled and waved at the crowd. More squads of guards marched between the carts. 

I think the final cart had double the usual complement of goats in front of it, and how the driver was keeping them under control was anyone's guess, since there were no reins. She did have a long whip in her hand, sticking out forward, but the lash never so much as tickled the shoulders of any of the goats. Maybe they were just inclined to follow whoever was in front of them? 

But when I saw who else was on the cart, that minor mystery flew straight out of my head, along with any amusement about the goats. In fact, at first I thought I was seeing things, because the man waving at the crowd, with bright feathers braided into his golden hair . . . was Shin'ou. 

I blinked and looked again. The resemblance was truly uncanny, but there were little differences that went beyond the long hair and the arm tattoos and the tan so deep that it nearly matched the colour of some of the paler islanders. They were more differences of posture and movement than of substance, though, and I really wished I had binoculars or something, because the effect was like seeing Shin'ou in Yuuri's body: the same flesh with completely different mannerisms. And it was disturbing. 

It wasn't until Conrad drew in a breath that I noticed the smaller, paler figure on the cart beside not-Shin'ou, who was staring down at his feet with a sullen expression and making no effort to wave at anyone. His arms were coated with some kind of yellowish, translucent salve over what looked like recent, inflamed tattoos, and he wore blue trousers, a white sleeveless shirt . . . and a familiar cravat. _Wolfram._ Which meant that not-Shin'ou was probably Dietmar von Bielefeld. Reasonable enough, when you thought about it, since Wolfram's resemblance to his remote ancestor had always been . . . extreme. 

My hand closed on Conrad's arm just as Geneus grabbed my shoulder. _We can't go after him right now._ We all knew we had to wait to avoid sabotaging our chances of getting Yuuri back, but that didn't mean that any of us had to like it. 

That was the last cart, and the parade ended after a few more units of guards. The crowd began to break up, and we got on our way alone . . . amid a miasma of silence. 

Murata was the one who finally broke it. "Well, we know he's alive and in good health. That's . . . something, right?" 

Shin'ou snorted. "Don't try to pretend. You know it isn't a good sign that he's with his father. He's probably trying to pry the location of Yuuri's soul out of Dietmar." 

"Risky," I said, and Shin'ou nodded. 

"We also can't ignore the possibility that Dietmar found out about Yuuri and is blackmailing Wolfram," Shin'ou added, "or that he's under some other threat of force. I think that's more likely—that expression he was wearing wasn't likely to persuade anyone he was happy to be there, and anyway, he's a terrible actor when he doesn't have anyone helping him." 

_When he doesn't have someone else running his body, you mean._ But I wasn't about to say it, not here and now. 

"He wouldn't betray us," Conrad said firmly. "Wolfram is loyal to Shin Makoku, and to Yuuri." 

"Left to himself, I have no doubt that he is." Geneus spoke for the first time since lunch. "However, given the large number of houjutsu mages Dietmar can call upon, we should not assume that our young von Bielefeld even remembers his fiancé. Mind-bending is proscribed by most ethical practitioners of the esoteric arts—not merely because it is an act of violence against another's psyche, but also because it can gradually drive the victim insane. However, Lord Dietmar does not strike me as the type of person to be . . . overly concerned with consequences." 

"You could have mentioned this earlier," I said. 

Geneus shrugged. "I did not know for certain that your brother's fiance was here . . . and there was enough worry in the air without my adding to it. However, Wolfram von Bielefeld is in no immediate danger. If his father has gone to the effort of putting a mind-bend on him, he must intend to keep him alive." 

That was something, anyway. "If we . . . have to leave him here . . ." I swallowed. Conrad wasn't exactly _glaring_ at me, but I could feel the force of his gaze. "If his father _did_ use a mind-bend on him, how long before it started to have . . . consequences?" 

"Several months. It is not a quick process—merely that the mind-bent individual has the maddening sense that there is something they should remember, hovering just out of reach . . ." 

Yes, I could see how several months of that could drive someone insane—in my experience, a few minutes of it was annoying enough. "So we could return to Shin Makoku and then come back here for him? In time?" 

Geneus nodded. "However, if you are hoping to leave your brother in a safe place, I doubt you will succeed." 

I sighed. "Well, I _could_ knock him out and send him back to Earth. That might give us a few days' margin, and if the navy had already left by the time he got back . . ." 

"He'd just borrow Lady Celi's yacht, or Anissina's banana boat, or something equally hare-brained," Murata said. "You're getting better at handling him, but you're still underestimating both Shibuya's stubbornness and his ingenuity, Shibuya's-big-brother. When he really wants something, he finds a way." 

I sighed again. Well, it had been a thought, anyway. 

The crowds thickened up again as we got closer to the pyramid-temple, but never to the point where we couldn't work our way forward, single-file. There were a lot of people headed our way carrying . . . odd things: live chickens, chunks of rock, bolts of cloth. We soon learned to avoid the chickens, which were vicious, scrawny birds that pecked at anyone coming into range except the people carrying them. 

The last half-block or so of the avenue leading up to the temple was really full of people (and chickens), in four neat, slowly-moving lines. They continued on up the stairs and into the second-floor main entrance to the temple. Priests made their way slowly along the lines, stopping here and there to speak briefly to people. 

Murata frowned. So did Geneus. 

"General offering ceremony in honour of the festival?" the former said, adjusting his glasses. 

"That is my thought as well," Geneus said. 

Murata blew out a breath. "Well, at least we won't look suspicious . . . so long as you can keep your pants on, Shibuya's-big-brother." 

"I'm not going to wreck our chances when we've gotten this far, friend-of-my-brother," I muttered back. "I do have _some_ self-control, you know." 

"Quite a lot of it," Murata said. "Which is why I'm worried. When a guy like you snaps, he tends to do it messily." 

"You would know," I retorted, and Murata grinned . . . but it looked fake, and faded too fast, and the light reflected off his glasses in such a way that I couldn't see his eyes. 

"Snapping that way takes too much emotional energy, and I bled that all out of myself before I even got tangled up with a certain idiot blonde," he said. "Ask your boyfriends, if you don't believe me." 

"What about that time after the battle at Verden?" Shin'ou asked curiously. 

"I was _drunk!_ " 

"Had you not forced that bottle of brandy on me—" Geneus stopped speaking in mid-sentence and blinked at Murata. Suddenly, they both smiled. It was the same expression: half humour, half rueful acknowledgment of what they did, after all, have in common. 

We joined the end of one of the lines, which moved forward at a steady but glacial pace. 

"So if we don't get to the front by the end of today, will they give us a token showing that we were in position N in line 3 and tell us to come back tomorrow?" Murata wondered aloud after half an hour or so. He meant it as a joke, but it made my guts churn, and I choked back a declaration that we _would_ find our way into that damned temple today, one way or the other. It would have attracted too much attention, and the couple who had lined up behind us had attack chickens. 

A priest—or at least I assumed he was a priest, although I couldn't actually read his tattoos—was working his way down the line in front of us, asking questions and taking notes on . . . a leaf? Well, not my problem. He didn't talk to everyone, and I watched him for a while, trying to figure out what made him interested in certain people. My guts churned again as I figured it out: he was only talking to those with no visible offering, and ignoring the people with something obvious like a chicken or a carpet or a chunk of houseki. _If we can convince him to let us bypass the line . . ._

He'd reached the person in front of us now, a lone man with no obvious burden, and I listened intently to their conversation, such as it turned out to be. 

"Your name?" 

"Bwarut of Essa." 

"What do you bring to the temple?" 

"Three hands of black pearls." 

"Truly?" 

Bwarut, if that was his name, opened a pouch hanging at his hip to show what was inside. The priest leaned over, looked, and nodded. 

"Your offering is welcome—we have seen few pearls this season. Good fortune to you." He made a quick note on his leaf with some kind of stylus, and sap oozed out to darken the lines. Then he took two more steps along the queue, and paused beside our group, eyebrows rising. 

"Your pardon," Geneus said before he could get started with his questions, "But our circumstances are a bit . . . other than usual." He took out the soul-jar, and the priest's eyebrows rose to the point where they nearly intersected his hairline. "This was found in our village during the breaking of a new field. We do not know when it came to be there, or how, but when we realized what it was and that the seal was intact, it was decided that we would bring it here." 

The priest nodded. "I believe you had best come with me. The Keeper of Souls will wish to view your find, and assess it." 

He turned back toward the temple, gesturing for us to follow him, and I restrained a sigh of relief. _First hurdle passed._

We received a number of irritated looks as we followed the priest through the crowd and up the stairs, through the right-hand entrance with its huge stone lintel and into . . . well, I guess you could call it the building's lobby. The outside of the pyramid might be granite, but the inside was white marble, lit by dozens upon dozens of houseki. Enough of them to make even my head ache, and I noticed a slight hitch in Geneus' step as he crossed the threshold. Shin'ou, less restrained, allowed himself one wince, and I could see that he was clenching his teeth. _If Wolfram's been stuck living here, even if just for a couple of days, he must be in agony._

The room was full of people, and there was a long table on the far side that was groaning under the weight of offerings, and I think there might have been a chicken pen in one of the corners, but we didn't have time for more than a quick glance at what was around us, because the priest we'd spoken to was dodging through the throng, heading for a stone archway tucked into the farthest corner. There were guards on either side of it, and he spoke to them briefly before beckoning us through. 

Up another flight of stairs, and if not for the five days of foot travel I'd endured to get there, I think my calves would have started to protest. It was bad enough that the stairs were steeper than I was used to on Earth, but they were also just a hair irregular, so that I never could quite establish a rhythm with respect to climbing them. I wanted to groan in protest when instead of leading us through the archway to the next floor, the priest turned toward the stairs leading to the floor above that. And the stairwell was full of houseki too. And the hallway we were eventually led along. And the room we were shown into had a ceiling practically coated with them, to give better reading light I expect, because the major items of furniture it contained were a desk and some shelves full of big, heavy, leatherbound books. There was a man in there too, sitting behind the desk and going over a stack of papers. He was as bald as Dakaskos, and wore a pair of half-moon reading glasses that were currently in the process of sliding down his nose. 

The priest we'd been following cleared his throat. "Sir . . ." 

The bald man looked up. "What do _you_ want?" 

"These people—" 

"—are quite alive and thus outside my purview." 

"They found a soul jar. An old one. It appears to still be sealed." 

"Hmph." The bald man shifted his stack of papers to one side. "Put it here." 

Geneus raised his eyebrows, but he also took out our fake jar and set it on the desk. Baldy put his left hand on the lid, and the stone in a ring on his index finger began to glow—another houseki, presumably. 

"Sealed," he agreed as the glow faded. "And full. It's in extraordinarily good shape for something as old as it looks to be, though. We haven't used this style of marking in more than a thousand years. Where did you say that you found it?" 

"It was dug up during a field clearance," Geneus said. "Presumably being shut away from wind and wave preserved it." 

The Keeper of Souls, if that was what he was, raised his eyebrows. "You have the oddest accent. Interesting." 

Geneus shrugged. "Our village is isolated, and outsiders seldom visit us. I must admit that we have had some difficulty making ourselves understood in the wider world—to the point that one of our party has entirely given up," he added, with a sidelong glance at Conrad. 

"If you think _this_ is the wider world, then what's beyond the ocean would astonish you," Baldy said with a snort. "Where did you say you were from? The west end?" 

"We did not say, but yes." 

"Out near Nyata, then." Baldy pulled out a stack of leaves and began mutilating the topmost with a pointed wooden stylus. "Do you know how deeply the jar was buried?" 

Geneus glanced at Murata, who said, "It was under a bharran tree stump, about so deep." His gesture took in maybe thirty centimetres. "My brother showed me the hole." 

"Then it was your brother that found it?" 

Murata nodded. "He wanted to come himself, but he and his wife have a new baby . . . you know how it is." 

"And his name?" 

I tuned out the question-and-answer session—it wasn't what we were here for. I had other things I needed to think about. 

We'd managed step one of our plan and gotten into the temple. Step two called for figuring out where the souls the cult had collected were stored while they waited for the ceremony, so that we could (step three) grab the jar with Yuuri in it, and then (step four) find Wolfram and (step five) get a little ways away from all this houseki and jump into the nearest body of water together for transport to somewhere safe. Stuffing Yuuri back into his body could be done at the first lull in the action after step three. 

I'd been able to sense Yuuri when we'd run into those cultists in Rega. I figured it would be harder here with all the houseki pounding at me, but at least it was something I could try to _do_ , instead of standing around and listening to Murata invent a Mbahatan village. 

_Breathe,_ I told myself. _Don't close your eyes, or Baldy might notice. Think Yuuri._ Imagine my brother's face with _his_ personality behind it. Midnight eyes with his hair falling into them, and that damned baseball uniform . . . or the pseudo-seifuku he wore as Maoh . . . his smile, open and warm rather than subtly sly the way Shin'ou's tended to be . . . the solid sense of his maryoku slumbering deep inside him. 

The houseki made it feel like I was inside a bass drum, with thundering noise and vibration all around, but I had to reach past it. It seemed to follow a wave pattern, with levels of intensity rising to a peak, then falling off. And during the lulls, I could almost feel . . . yes . . . _there_. Up above us, on what must be the top level of the pyramid. 

Then I heard the word _reward_ , and my attention snapped back to the conversation. 

"You mean we've come all this way and we don't get _anything_?" Murata was saying. "D'you have _any_ idea how much work it was to get here?" 

Geneus touched his shoulder. "I should never have taken a chieftain's son as apprentice. Do you have any idea how obnoxious you are being?" 

Murata was a damned good actor. His petulant expression was _perfect_. "I was promised a reward! I want my reward!" 

Baldy was hiding a smile behind his hand. "I can't authorize any kind of reward myself, but I can arrange for you to speak with Lord Dietmar, the Incarnation of Kekele. I'm sure he would be glad to offer you something appropriate." 

_Dangerous._ I couldn't say so with Baldy there, but if Wolfram had said anything at all . . . 

"We would not wish to trouble him," Geneus said. 

Murata pouted. "But . . ." 

"Indeed, I think it likely that Lord Dietmar will want to thank you in person for your service to the temple," Baldy said, and I felt a bead of cold sweat run down the back of my neck. _Does he know? Is this all an elaborate charade?_

"It is, of course, not within our purview to give orders to his lordship," Geneus said. His back and shoulders were tense, but I didn't think Baldy noticed. 

"Excellent. Come with me, if you would." 

"Incarnation?" I whispered to Murata in English as Baldy levered himself up out of his seat. "The blonde brat's father thinks he's you?" I was carefully avoiding any names, which might have carried through the language barrier. 

"I doubt it—he's probably just got everyone _else_ thinking he's me." 

"Great. Can you prove it?" 

"Nope." 

I ground my teeth a bit as we headed for the hallway. By the time we got home, the tops of my molars would probably be worn smooth. 

We followed a snaky course through the interior of the pyramid, going down one staircase and up the other. The first couple of hallways, still in the office area or whatever you wanted to call it, were pretty Spartan, with walls and floors and ceilings all plain except for the decorative patterns formed by the inset houseki lights, so what we found after we'd gone down the stairs and back up was a bit of a shock. 

The carpet in the new hallway was brilliantly coloured, with some kind of intricate floral design, and the walls had all been painted with intricate trompe l'oeuil windows opening onto impossible vistas. They were startlingly realistic, too. I was pretty sure that perspective in art had been a relatively late development back on Earth, but it was definitely in use here. The overall effect was impressive . . . and, I was willing to bet, expensive. We had a good opportunity to look at it, because the door Baldy took us to was at the end. There was a guard standing beside it, armed with sword, spear, shield, and helmet. He raised his eyebrows as he saw us, but said nothing. 

"Wait here," Baldy said to Geneus, and disappeared inside the room. That left us in the hallway, with nothing to do but stare at each other and the guard (who was probably listening to us, so we didn't dare talk about anything out-of-character). Said guard was doing a good ceremonial at-attention/poker-face act, but his eye movements suggested that he was trying to watch Conrad primarily, then Shin'ou, Geneus, and me, and was wishing he had a few _more_ eyes, ideally with independent swiveling capability. He did seem to be mostly ignoring Murata, which suggested he didn't see the younger-appearing Sage as a threat. 

It must have been a good ten minutes before the door opened again and Baldy poked his head out. "He'll see you. Please come this way." 

The room on the other side of the door was hell. 

It must have taken thousands of houseki to line the entirety of the large-closet-sized space with the stones. The headache took hold instantly, and I gritted my teeth. It was followed a second or two later by shooting pains along all four of my limbs, and a feeling of weakness. I forced myself to give no indication of how I was feeling and continue to move forward, toward the houseki-studded door at the far end of the room, which stood ajar. I didn't even dare check to see how Geneus and Shin'ou were doing. It was all I could do to look after myself. 

The gasp as I stepped through the far door into a less-confined space was involuntary. The headache didn't quite go away, but it lessened to the point that I could bring myself to look around, at least. 

This room was big and airy, and the carpet on the floor was thick and silken-shaggy under my feet. At the far end were a table and chairs made of dark wood inlaid with what might have been mother-of-pearl, and to my left was an area with a low couch and some big cushions scattered in front of a window I wouldn't have thought existed—maybe it was concealed with houjutsu from the outside, or something. And to my right, Baldy was standing beside a man who looked very much like Shin'ou. Who was staring at us . . . no, at _Geneus_ , and why hadn't it crossed my mind that Celi's former husband would have to have seen the old portrait of the Great Sage at Blood Pledge Castle? And hell, he wouldn't have seen Conrad as an adult, but he'd have known both his parents and I didn't know to what extent Dan Hiri Weller had resembled his son . . . 

Geneus turned calmly to face our host, and bowed. "Lord Dietmar. You honour us." In Djalt, with no indication that he knew we'd already been found out. "Your pardon, but is there something on my nose?" 

Dietmar shook his head. "You merely remind me very much of someone." 

"Ah. Well, it is said that every one of us has an exact twin somewhere in the world." A fluid shrug. 

"The resemblance is not quite exact, but you share everything except colouring and race. Quite extraordinary." 

"On the contrary, my lord, I would have said you were the extraordinary one, finding your way back to Mbahata after so long." 

Dietmar chuckled and ran a finger over the tattoos on his left forearm. "Thank you, but we both know that is a lie. Wolfram, are these the ones?" 

"Yes, Father." 

My head snapped around, but there was no sign of Wolfram in the room . . . and when I turned back, there was no sign of Dietmar either. Or the room I thought I'd been in. 

Small and dark and windowless. No furniture, no carpet. And full of guards. Lots and lots of heavily-armed guards, some of them standing between us and the only door. 

I began to call in water dragons from the humid air, but a pulse of . . . energy, something, I don't know what . . . slammed into me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly my entire body was in agony, every cell on fire. 

I think I screamed. I know I fell. The room went dark before I hit the floor, and my last thought was a garbled, _set-up_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You just knew it wouldn't be that easy, didn't you? ;)
> 
> Next time: Wolfram talks a bit about family.


	25. Chapter 25

Something dripped on my face. I grimaced and shifted, not wanting to open my eyes. My body felt like lead. I willed the whatever-it-was to go away so that I could go back to sleep. 

_Drip._

I muttered a curse and raised my hand to wipe the moisture from my face . . . and recent history suddenly came rushing back to me. I started upright, wincing at the headache that immediately started pounding in my temples. 

I was in a small room . . . no, I realized as I saw the bars. I was in a _cell_ , squarish and maybe two meters to a side. Utterly unfurnished, except for the glowing houseki studding the back wall. There was moss growing between them . . . hell, there was water running down, into a trench at the wall's base, which channeled it into an open drainhole too small to admit even as much as my fist. Outside the bars was a narrow hallway, with another cell across from mine. That one was empty, though. The steady light of the houseki made the whole thing feel surreal—I mean, weren't dungeons supposed to be dark as well as dank? 

That hole at the base of the wall, though . . . if the condensation drained into it, there had to be a whole lot more water down there. Tentatively, I reached out with my maryoku. Or I tried to. The bit where I screamed and collapsed on the floor again as shooting pains ran through my head kind of ruined the attempt. 

"I wouldn't do that, Shibuya's-big-brother. All of the cells are shielded against majutsu. I think Dietmar's paranoid." 

The cold stone felt nice against my aching head, so I wasn't going to try to get up again for a little while, but I spotted Murata from my prone position, in the cell across the hall and to the left, sitting cross-legged near the bars. 

"Friend-of-my-brother, I think Dietmar's lost anything he might have had that ever resembled a mind," I croaked. Cleared my throat. "The others?" 

"Lord Weller to your left, straight across from me. Magnus is on my far side." 

"And Geneus?" I would _not_ , I told myself, even entertain the possibility that they had taken my dark lover off somewhere and executed him. 

"Across from me," Shin'ou said from somewhere up the hall. "He still hasn't woken up." 

I swore and scrambled to my feet again, trying to wedge my head between the bars so that I could look down the hall, but the spaces were too narrow. 

"That doesn't mean there's anything wrong with him," Murata said. "He's the only one here who's physically a full-blooded Mazoku, so he has lower resistance to houseki than you or Magnus . . . and you only just woke up. Besides, there's nothing we can do but wait." 

"Can't you use the houseki to get the doors open, or something? I mean, you should have the same amount of knowledge about houjutsu as—" I stopped, because Murata was shaking his head. 

"These houseki are already being used to power something. I can't use them without wrestling them loose, and that takes time. Too much time," Murata added, with a grim look. "And I'm not experienced with houjutsu in this life—remember all those messed-up soul jars? It could be days before I have anything to work with." 

I swallowed, feeling a ball of cold form in my gut. _We_ could probably handle a few days in here, but by that time, Yuuri would be gone . . . 

"I think our best bet is to do things the old-fashioned way," Murata was saying. "Attack the first guard who presents an opening, and go after the keys. It would be easier if Lord Weller hadn't gotten himself so beat up, though." 

"'S just bruises." It took me a moment to even identify the voice as Conrad's, it was so thick-sounding. 

"Some of which are on your throat," Shin'ou said. "We can all tell that you're having trouble breathing, you know." 

"He and I stayed conscious after the rest of you had been knocked out, and he was trying to protect Shibuya's body. He killed three of the guards before they managed to pull him down." 

I blinked. "So why are we still alive?" 

Murata shrugged. "Because Dietmar wants to execute us in front of his son, in the most disgustingly gory way possible?" 

"That's unusually pessimistic, coming from you," I said. 

Another shrug. "I'm kind of frustrated, I guess. It's hard to figure this guy out when all I've ever seen of him is a distant figure on a parade float and a houjutsu projection. And I can't even be sure that it was him running the latter." 

"Great. Do you think we can—" 

Footsteps, two people's worth. I bit back what I had been about to say, and waited, tense, wishing I could see further up the hall. Someone tripped. Then a curse, in Mazoku, quite audible. In a familiar voice. _What in hell is Wolfram doing down here?_

Silence, for several seconds. And then a wet, meaty _thwock_. A metallic jingle, and more footsteps . . . but only one set this time. I heard someone draw in a breath as they got closer. 

"Hmph. It's a good thing I know it isn't the wimp running that body, or I'd shake him until his teeth rattled. Aren't you supposed to be happy to see me?" 

My, "Not when you're threatening my brother," overlapped with Conrad's, "I knew you wouldn't betray us." 

"Don't try to smile, Little-Big-Brother. You might split your lip open again." Keys jingled as Wolfram began to open our cells. 

"You haven't called me that in years." 

Wolfram hesitated in the act of opening Murata's cell. "I think . . . I've figured out a bit during the past couple of days about what's really important." He sounded subdued, and as he came closer to me, I could see dark circles under his eyes—not that he would pass for a raccoon or anything, but he clearly hadn't been sleeping well. And somehow I didn't think it was just because of the houseki. 

As soon as my door was open, though, I went to the cell on the other side of Conrad's, because my brother's fiance was just not my top priority. 

Shin'ou was already by Geneus' side when I entered the cell. I winced as I crossed the threshold, because I hadn't realized how much less . . . houseki'd . . . the hallway was until I'd entered back into the area covered by the majutsu-blocking spell and had it crash down on me like a ton of bricks. 

"He's still out cold," the ancient king told me. "Help me carry him out into the hallway. Otherwise, I don't think he's going to recover any time soon." 

"How good are you at healing?" I asked, taking our lover's shoulders as Shin'ou took his feet. 

"Passable." Shin'ou smirked and nodded in Conrad's direction. To be honest, I'd forgotten about the whole arm-reattachment incident—I mean, Yuuri had told me about it, but I hadn't seen it for myself, so I guess it just . . . hadn't sunk in. "I'm not as good at diagnosis as I am at actual healing, but it's kind of obvious what's wrong in this case." 

We laid Geneus on the floor of the hallway, but once we were clear of the room, he started to stir almost immediately. I sat down, pillowing his head in my lap, as he shifted, shaking his head and finally opening his eyes to look up at me. 

"Shouri," he murmured, and then, "Magnus. Where are we?" 

"In the temple's dungeon," I said. "Wolfram just let us out. I don't know how long we've been here—I was unconscious too." 

"It's a bit past midnight," Wolfram supplied. 

"Then we have no time to waste." Geneus sat up, then used my shoulder to help heave himself to his feet. "Lord von Bielefeld, did you manage to find where the souls were stored?" 

Wolfram nodded. "They're up on the top floor. I wanted to take Yuuri's, but I couldn't tell which one . . ." He gave me a haunted look. Well, I hadn't exactly tried to hide the fact that I could identify Yuuri's soul, but I wasn't unique in that regard. Murata had shown that he could do it too, and I'd have been surprised if Shin'ou couldn't. 

"I've known him a lot longer than you have," I pointed out, doing my best to be gentle. "Give it time." 

Another nod, stiffly delivered, and Wolfram went back to business. "We're going to need to go up the back staircase," he said. "There's something on a lot of the doors . . . I don't know how it works, but it detects people with maryoku." 

"So they knew about us the moment we stepped inside the temple," I said as Wolfram began to lead the way along the hall. "And you . . ." 

"The head priest at the temple in the town where they took us first had studied here for a while, and seen Lord Dietmar often enough to realize that I looked a lot like him. So he had me sent here. And I thought, if you'd managed to save Yuuri's body, then the easiest way to find his soul was to . . . play along." 

"We saw you during the parade," I said. "You need to work on your acting." 

I could hear the scowl, even if I couldn't see it. "I pretended I was mad about the heat and the bugs . . . and these," Wolfram added, touching his salve-coated, tattooed arm. "I just hope Gisela can get them off. I . . . it was all part of playing along, but letting him _mutilate_ me—" 

"They're marks of courage," Conrad said. "No less than any other warrior's scars. And I don't think Yuuri would reject you because of them." 

"That wimp! No, he isn't that kind of person," Wolfram admitted with a sigh. "But vanity is something that my _father_ understands." His shoulders were stiff. "At first I . . . I really wanted . . . I never had a father," he said in a low voice. "Uncle Waltorana isn't quite . . . and Mother was still sort of married to Conrad's father, at least when I was small, but he was never there. I wanted to know what it was like. But . . . he isn't . . ." The blonde Mazoku took a deep breath. "My father . . . isn't sane. I wasn't sure at first, though. It's subtle. But he thinks that Shin'ou has a grudge against him. Personally." 

I glanced over my shoulder at Shin'ou, who shrugged. "I knew of him, of course, but my interest was pretty peripheral—I just needed a carrier of the von Bielefeld line to father the next Key. Other than that, I couldn't have cared less what became of him one way or the other. Really, I'd have preferred to use Waltorana, but he has a genetic defect that would have made it too risky." 

I wasn't sure whether that was of any help to Wolfram or not. His shoulders were still so tight . . . "He's paranoid, I think. It shows up in other ways too, like the detectors on the doors and all of the houseki . . . there wasn't nearly as much here before he came, one of the oldest priests told me. He's been terrified for all these years . . . the better part of a century . . . that someone from Shin Makoku was going to come after him." 

"And now that we have, we really couldn't care less about what happens to him, personally," Murata said. "Kind of anticlimactic." 

Wolfram didn't answer, even when he paused for a moment at the door that led out of the cell block. He bowed his head and took a deep breath before pushing it open. 

At first it looked like the room was empty—just bare stone walls with a table and a couple of stools and . . . a rock lying on that table? I shrugged. 

Then I saw the red pool on the floor, and the form slumped in one darkened corner, and I understood. 

"Wolfram . . ." Conrad spoke his brother's name, then stopped. 

"I'm a soldier," Wolfram said. "I've been a soldier for fifteen years. This . . . doesn't matter." 

Conrad's hand came to rest on his brother's shoulder anyway, although he didn't say anything further. Wolfram snorted and looked away, but didn't shake him off. 

"The stairs are over there," he said, pointing. "We have to go all the way to the top." 

The stairwell wasn't _quite_ dark, but it was a lot dimmer than anywhere else we'd yet been inside the temple, with fewer houseki, and the pounding pulse in my head quieted to the point that I could hear myself think for the first time in quite a while. It made climbing six flights seem almost easy. Almost. 

It was strange, but I was feeling kind of sympathetic toward Wolfram just then. Normally, I just considered him an annoyance, and unworthy of my brother, but after all this, I was starting to wonder. He'd tortured himself, just about, to get to this point. Maybe he really did love Yuuri. I couldn't see any other reason for him to put himself through all of this. 

The stairs ended at a small, dusty landing and a wooden door. Wolfram tried to open it, but it looked like it was locked. The blonde Mazoku planted his hands on his hips and scowled at it. 

"Permit me," Geneus said, and slipped past Wolfram to touch the door. A frown line appeared between his brows for a moment. "It is not locked, but the damp has swollen it such that it is wedged inside the frame. Getting it open will not be quiet. Be ready." 

He slammed his shoulder against the door, and the hollow _boom!_ echoed down the stairs. It took three tries to get the door open, with all of us gritting our teeth. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wolfram silently passing his sword to Conrad. 

We stepped through the doorway and into a room lined with shelves, each laden with bottles and jars. A half-dozen priests were standing there staring at us. Three of them had houseki. I grabbed water out of the humid air . . . and dropped to my knees hugging myself because it hurt so much, but I managed to keep hold of the majutsu, shape three dragons, and grab the houseki-carriers, binding their arms to their sides and slapping wet coils over their mouths. Conrad whacked the nearest of the other three behind the ear with the pommel of Wolfram's sword, and the man went down. Wolfram wrestled another one to the floor, demonstrating a mastery of dirty fighting that I wouldn't have expected from him, while Shin'ou went after the third one. Unfortunately, that last priest was younger and quicker than the others, as well as further away from us. He dodged the god-king's initial lunge and took to his heels, slamming a door behind him so quickly that Shin'ou was lucky to avoid smashing into it. He muttered a few words that I couldn't quite make out as Conrad cold-cocked the priests I'd been holding onto. 

I let the water dragons go with a sigh and a wince. Geneus' hand brushed over the nape of my neck, and I bit back a groan of relief as majutsu healing spread through me, driving away the ache of the houseki, which had intensified the moment I'd drawn on my power. 

Murata was looking at jars and bottles, his fingers running lightly along the edges of the shelves. At one point he paused, picked up a jar, and checked it more closely, only to set it aside again with a shake of his head. 

"He's on the other side of the room," Shin'ou said. "One of the top shelves." He was wearing a frown that looked odd on Yuuri's face . . . well, that wasn't a mental discontinuity I would have to deal with much longer. 

Murata paused midway along a shelf. "You're sure." 

I opened my mind again, in search of Yuuri, bracing myself for pain which never came. Geneus was shielding me, I realized, and likely taking the bulk of the discomfort on himself. I'd have to have a word with him about that . . . but not right now. Right now, I had to find Yuuri's soul before the priest who had escaped found enough help to get past Conrad, who was standing by the slammed door, sword poised to strike at the first fool to open it. 

_Concentrate,_ I told myself. Yuuri was . . . Yuuri was . . . there! I raised my arm to point—to the opposite side of the room from Murata, as Shin'ou had said. Given the way the shelves were arranged, there were three that the line stretching out from my finger could have intersected, and Murata went to work checking the nearest. The first shelf was apparently a dud. The second . . . Murata's hand slowed to a stop. He took down a glass bottle with a white sphere inside and stared at it for several seconds. Then he caught my eye and nodded to me. I held out my hand. Given that he hadn't been able to find the right shelf without help, I had to make sure myself that he'd gotten the right one. 

Murata gave me the bottle and I cradled it against my palm. _Yuuri?_

The soul butted at the glass of the bottle even as I thought the name—answer enough even if I hadn't been able to feel him. 

"It's him," I said, and looked up . . . straight into Shin'ou's eyes. "Do you . . . want to . . ." _Do the switch here?_ The words wouldn't come out. Not when I'd seen the sheer _pleasure_ my golden lover took in having a body, even if it was just a borrowed one. 

A hesitation, then a firm headshake. "He'd be disoriented. It might be dangerous." 

Well, Yuuri had waited this long. He could wait a little longer. 

"We'd better go now, if there's nothing further we need to do here," Conrad said from his position by the door. "I'm surprised we've been left alone this long." 

There was a chuckle from behind us. "Too long. Or perhaps I should say, _too late_." 

The words were in Mazoku, and I had a feeling I knew who I was about to see before I even turned around. 

Dietmar von Bielefeld stood just inside the door to the back staircase. There were three temple guards with him. 

The other door, the one Conrad had been standing near, slammed open with a sudden bang, and Lady Celi's middle son was forced to jump back. Eight more guards poured in. 

"Now," Dietmar began, "If you would just put that soul back in its place and come with us quietly—" 

"Like hell I will," I snapped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think I was going to let them get out of here without a confrontation, did you? ;)


	26. Chapter 26

Dietmar offered me a skewed grin. "Then we'll just have to take it, won't we?" 

I cuddled Yuuri's bottle against my chest. "Do you even know whose soul this is? Are you _trying_ to start a war?" 

"It's the Maoh's soul." Dietmar's grin widened. "And I would welcome a war with Shin Makoku. At least then I wouldn't have to _wait_ any longer." 

"Shin'ou has promised to reduce anyone who harms Yuuri to ash," Wolfram growled. 

"Shin'ou?" Dietmar actually laughed. "Shin'ou's been dead for four thousand years, and even if he somehow _had_ become a god, do you honestly think his power extends all the way out _here_? Shin'ou isn't going to help you, no matter how good an imitation Great Sage you've found." 

"Shin'ou didn't care about you before one way or the other," Murata said, "but now you've managed to annoy him, I think." A quick sidelong glance showed that Shin'ou was keeping Yuuri's face almost completely expressionless, though. 

"You've certainly managed to tick _me_ off," I added. 

"And why should I care about you?" Dietmar's question was almost lazy. 

I offered him a thin smile. "Because I'm the second most powerful water-wielder currently alive, and if you don't get rid of your friends _right now_ and let us walk out of here, I'm going to break every single jar or bottle in the room. Except this one," I added, hand tightening on the jar I held. 

"Feel free to try," came the reply. 

That made it pretty obvious that either the shelves or the jars themselves were protected, but I drew in water from the air and lashed out anyway. If it turned out that it was the shelves, Murata, who was within arm's reach of one, could still sweep a bunch of jars to the floor . . . 

Unfortunately, it looked like it was the jars that bore the protection, probably in the form of houjutsu woven into their structure. They bounced when they struck the stone, instead of shattering. 

I shrugged, and drew in the water dragons I'd manifested to coil around me like a demented cape . . . then lost my grip on them as a pulse of energy flowed through the room and almost made me turn my stomach inside out. Headache, shooting pains . . . _houjutsu!_ I gritted my teeth. This time I was _not_ going to pass out, not if I had anything to say about it. 

"Lord Dietmar! I was afraid we wouldn't arrive in time!" Four priests pushed through the group of guards over by the main door. All of them held staves tipped with glowing houseki. The speaker was the oldest of them, his tattoos distorted where his skin had wrinkled and sagged. I was surprised he had any teeth left, considering how old he looked—houjutsu dentistry? _Why do I care?_

But Dietmar and the priests had made a mistake: they'd forgotten that not all members of our party had majutsu. As the guards parted to let the priests through, Conrad blurred into motion. Before anyone could react, he'd cut the tops off two of the staves. He grabbed a third one with his left hand and tore it away from the oldest priest, throwing it across the room. It spun along the floor and fetched up at the base of a shelving unit not far from Murata, who bent to pick it up. 

With only one priest holding the anti-majutsu spell, the atmosphere in the room became seventy-five percent less oppressive. My head still hurt, but it didn't feel like it was going to split open and fall off. Geneus, who had half-collapsed against a shelf not far from me, raised his head and looked straight at Murata. 

"Obleth karaniyeh," he said, or at least it sounded like that to me, and I gave him a horrified look, thinking that the stress of being repeatedly hit with houjutsu pain had driven him insane. 

There was a firm thump of wood against stone, and I turned to see Murata spin the houseki staff he had . . . borrowed . . . between his hands so that it was horizontal in front of him. His head was up, his jaw set. "Obleth karaniyeh almakh en skurros!" he said firmly, and the houseki at the top of the staff flared blindingly to life. The entire building rumbled, and every other houseki in the place winked out, leaving the room in twilight, lit only by that single stone and the dim light of those souls that happened to be contained in glass jars. There was a spot of brightness against my chest, where I still cradled Yuuri. 

Murata flashed a smile at Geneus. "Thanks for reminding me of that," he said. "I don't think I would have dared look deeply enough into that part of our memory to dredge it up for myself." 

"And I could not have used it without doing myself injury," my dark lover said, with a grimace. 

"Lord . . . Kekele . . . but . . ." The old priest's voice quavered as he spoke, and he looked from Murata to Geneus to Dietmar and back again. 

Murata sighed. "In a sense, Geneus and I were both Kekele: I have his soul, and we both have his memories. Dietmar is an impostor." 

Geneus was on his feet by that point, standing at my shoulder, which gave me the opportunity to whisper, "What was that all about?" 

"The sorceries the priests cast are embedded with a . . . fail-safe of sorts, by their founder's commandment. That formula, and the spell accompanying it, have just negated every bit of static houjutsu in the temple except the bindings on the soul jars." 

So all their lights and Mazoku-scanners and all the rest were down right now. Nice to know. 

"Stop this nonsense, Dietmar, and just let us leave," Shin'ou said crisply. "If you don't, I guarantee that this is going to get much, much worse." 

Dietmar snorted. "I don't take orders from children. You can't be any older than my traitorous son." 

Wolfram looked like he'd been punched in the gut. 

Shin'ou smiled. It wasn't a pleasant expression. "Don't be deceived by this body. It belongs to the soul Shouri's holding. I just borrowed it—after all, it's been a while since I last had one. It's been an interesting trip, but it's going to be over soon." 

"Well, then, just who are you?" Dietmar smirked. I wished one of the temple guards standing around him like statues would take the initiative to get rid of him. 

"Oh, come, now, you're not that stupid—who else would be travelling around with the Great Sage? And here I thought you'd been expecting me for a while." 

Dieter's eyes widened, and he took a half-step backward. "Shin . . . ou . . . No, you can't be—" 

"You stole the soul of the Maoh I had chosen, Dietmar," Shin'ou said, and suddenly the room was brightly lit again, by the aura that sprang up around him. The air pulsed, and his eyes flickered oddly, pupils changing to slits. "I said I would reduce Yuuri's enemies to ash. I've only forborne up to this point because he wouldn't have wanted it . . . but he isn't in any condition to argue with me right now. Thanks to you." 

The god-king raised his hand, and the fire that flared in his palm was as blue as his eyes, with only the tiniest flickers of gold. "If you had stayed here quietly and played high priest like a good little boy, I would have continued to ignore you. You brought this on yourself." 

I half-expected the guards to close ranks in front of him, even though Shin'ou had been careful to say that last bit in Djalt rather than Mazoku. Instead, they parted and backed up against the shelves lining the walls—trying to get out of range, I guess. 

Dietmar wasn't going down without a fight, though. He spread his arms, and red flames crackled upward from the floor. "You are a betrayer. You chose me for her, but you didn't protect me, didn't uphold me—" 

"Celi chose you herself," Shin'ou said. "I let the relationship go ahead because I needed her to have a son of the von Bielefeld bloodline, one who could inherit the key to Hell's Fire in the Frozen Tundra. Fortunately, he's turned out to be a far better man than you. I never promised you anything." 

Shin'ou tossed the fireball he was holding with a gentle, almost negligent motion. Dietmar dodged and batted at it with a tongue of red flame. It fell to the floor at his feet, and—I swear I'm not making this up!—the _stone_ caught on fire, spewing pale flame. 

Dietmar didn't flinch. In fact, he _stepped forward into_ the conflagration, while Wolfram made a horrible, wounded noise, and his red fire joined with the flames gouting up from the floor. 

"Spirits!" Geneus said. "Magnus, stop now! He is attempting an absorption!" 

"He'll burn himself out if he does," Shin'ou snapped. 

"And take how many innocents with him?" 

"Shouri can buffer it." 

"If he tries, then _he_ will burn out! Your strength alone he might be able to counter, but combined with Dietmar's—" 

"I won't do it." I tried to make myself sound firm, but actually I was feeling sick to my stomach. I wasn't bluffing—Shin'ou would never believe me if I did—but I didn't know if I could live with myself if I really had to force myself to stand back and let whatever was going to happen just . . . happen. The fact that I had no idea how to "buffer" the power of two strong fire-wielders running amok was a minor consideration by comparison. 

"And Shibuya would never forgive you if you blew this place up to get him back," Murata added. "Or do you think the petitioners and the fourteen-year-old acolytes all deserve to die because their leader is an idiot?" 

Shin'ou muttered something that I couldn't quite hear and closed his eyes. The aura around him flickered out, and when he looked up again, his pupils were normal. "I hope we don't all come to regret this." 

Someone was laughing. It took me a moment to figure out that it was Dietmar, who was still coated in flames. _Oh, shit. This might not end well._

Geneus took a step closer to me and slid his arm around my waist. "Douse everything in the room with water, if you can," he said. "It will give us a few additional seconds to react." 

I nodded and grabbed all the water I could find—out of the air, out of the rocks . . . I almost started pulling it out of the people, but I realized what I was doing just in time. I splashed dragons liberally around the room, and several people at the far end swore at me for getting them wet. The guards that had come in with Dietmar gave me grateful looks as they began to sneak out the back door, though, with skin that looked reddened and tight, as though they'd been out in the sun too long. Although that would have been kind of difficult with their complexions. 

Dietmar didn't pay any attention to them. His expression was one of deep concentration as the flames around him slowly turned from pale to red. As the last of the pale flames darkened, he took a step forward and swept an arm out at the nearest shelving unit. The wood burned so quickly and so hot that it seemed to transition instantaneously from sturdy boards to a collapsing film of ash in the shape of a shelf, and then, a split second later, into a grey heap with soul jars sticking out of it. 

Dietmar laughed again, but the sound made me uncomfortable somehow, sending chills prickling up and down my spine. My eyes widened when I realized why. "He's lost control, hasn't he?" 

"I believe so," Geneus said grimly, and the cold spread inside me. _Oh shit, oh shit . . ._ I remembered what it had been like when I'd been the one who had lost control of my majutsu, how the most outrageous things—like attacking Yuuri to get at Conrad and Wolfram to punish them for "hurting" Yuuri—had suddenly seemed reasonable. And Dietmar was already unbalanced. "Do whatever you can to stop him," Geneus added, "and I will support you, since my power is of limited use so far above the ground. Let us hope he does not burn through the floor." 

A glance at his expression showed me that he wasn't kidding. 

Wolfram took a step forward, stretching out his hand. "Father, please—" 

"Do not speak to me, _traitor!_ " Dietmar gestured, and a flare of fire struck Wolfram. The blonde youth screamed as his shirt flashed into nothing and an ugly red burn appeared across his chest. 

The fire slackened, and Conrad was in motion before anyone else could draw breath. He grabbed Wolfram's arm, used that and momentum to heave the blonde boy up over his shoulder, and ran for the door. Dietmar blasted at them, but the old temple priest raised a houseki on a truncated bit of staff, using houjutsu to deflect the fire. 

Once Wolfram was out of sight, Dietmar seemed to settle a bit, gazing around the room with brooding eyes. No one wanted to move and draw his attention, but everyone's minds had to be racing as frantically as mine. 

The air was getting humid again, and I knew that someone had to try something, ideally before Dietmar could remember the soul jar I was clutching. If there hadn't been hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent lives at stake, I might just have run, gotten both pieces of Yuuri the hell out of here, but I knew that the moment we had him back together and he found out what had happened, he'd find a way to jump back in with both feet. I had to deal with this before I let him wake up. 

I could feel Geneus feeding me a trickle of extra maryoku as I gathered another dragon together and sent it at Dietmar. It puffed into steam as it touched his outer guard of flames . . . but not quite instantly, and it dented his red fire a bit. Maybe if I could get enough water together and throw it at him all at once . . . 

Unfortunately, I also had his attention now. Dietmar smirked at me and pointed down, then whipped his hand along and up to point at me, and a gout of fire ran along the floor, almost too quickly to be seen. 

Geneus, who had better majutsu-battle reflexes than I did, blocked it briefly with a surge of power from a raised palm, then spun, dragging me with him. The fire passed through the space we'd been in and destroyed another shelf. 

For all the heat and humidity in the room, I felt very cold. _He isn't going to stop—there's no scolding mother to bring him up short the way she did me. Wolfram would have been our best chance at something like that, and Dietmar apparently just doesn't care enough. I'm going to have to kill him._

In a way, it was a relief to have made that choice. Yuuri would have hated it, but, well, once you're satisfied there's no other way out, you don't have to keep wasting mental energy _looking_ for another way out, if you know what I mean. It let me concentrate on the _how_ without worrying about the _what_. 

There wasn't enough water in the room to put out that fire, I knew that. I was going to have to draw it in from somewhere else, but I couldn't do it instantaneously. I needed to buy time. 

"Can you signal Shin'ou to keep this idiot occupied for a bit?" I murmured to Geneus. Knowing that it was a risk, that I would be putting Yuuri's body on the line, but I didn't see what else we could do. 

Geneus didn't respond verbally, but I felt his arm moving where he'd wrapped it around me, and guessed that he was making some kind of hand gesture. Not only did Shin'ou's eyebrows rise in response, but Murata's eyes widened behind his glasses and he began to work his way around the room to the quartet of confused priests. 

"Try to keep him from killing me," I whispered to my dark lover, and shut my eyes. 

There had to be some kind of water source closer than the ocean. There was a good-sized city here, and its people had to drink and wash and cook and water their gardens and a hundred-and-one other things that required the life-giving liquid. Hell, we'd seen at least one fountain on our way to the inn yesterday. I just had to find where it all came from. And so I focused my attention down, because I hadn't seen any open channels. 

The temple had some water in it—water in the air, water in jars and jugs, water in the people. Water in the stones, bound up in some slow chemical dance. Not enough. Further out . . . people, humid air . . . a fountain. And underneath it, some kind of very large, very full pipe. I wrenched at it, yanking the water upward, and felt the fountain's workings crack, then burst open to let the water out. 

_This way,_ I told the good-sized dragon I'd drawn up. _Over here._ It glided along the avenue by which the fountain had been placed, and I could feel smaller bits of water—people—jumping out of the way. Some of the ones in the temple's entryway couldn't move fast enough . . . smashed, drowned . . . _don't think about it._ Up the stairs now, and onto the landing right outside the door . . . movement . . . Conrad hauling Wolfram out of the path of the deluge and shielding him with his body . . . there was enough space to haul the dragon past without touching them. 

It destroyed the edges of the doorway as it burst into the room, and I opened my eyes to see the opening in the stone being pounded into a more circular shape. I hadn't done enough calculus in university to figure out how much water was in a column with a six-foot diameter at that rate of flow, but I knew it was a lot, and I sent it smashing straight at Dietmar. 

Even though most of the water puffed into steam as it touched the flames surrounding him, Wolfram's father took a step back as my dragon struck, maybe from the sheer power of suggestion. I kept at it, though, piling on massive amounts of water and feeling Dietmar's power draw in toward his core, although I couldn't _see_ what was going on because the room was filled with water vapour. I would probably have ended up steamed like a batch of veggies if Geneus hadn't still been shielding me in addition to feeding me extra power. I was starting to get light-headed with the sheer magnitude of the forces flowing through and around me, and a coldness crawled down my spine as I realized I would have been right on the verge of losing control myself if Geneus hadn't been steadying me somehow. _You are my strength—how did I ever manage without you?_

And then my supply of water was abruptly cut off—I think someone must have shut a valve somewhere. A wind whipped through the room, clearing away the steam to show Shin'ou standing at the center of a fading shield, Murata bunched together with the houjutsu-wielding priests, still holding the staff with the glowing stone tip, Wolfram and Conrad peeking around the edges of the damaged doorway, pale-faced . . . and Dietmar, unharmed and wearing a murderous expression. 

He raised a hand, and a fireball began to form above his palm. I was too tired even to swear as I pulled another water dragon together. Surely there had to be an end to Dietmar's power . . . didn't there? He'd been sustaining what amounted to a feat of hysterical magical strength for several minutes now. 

The ball of flame became an animal shape, with the proportions of a large greyhound but the sinuous movements of a snake. It nearly managed to grab my dragon in its jaws during its first lunge forward, but I yanked it away just in time. 

As we settled into a tiring fight-by-proxy, out of the corner of my eye I noticed that Shin'ou had dropped his shield and was creeping around the edge of the room. I forced myself not to look at him. If he had a plan, it was imperative that Dietmar not notice. 

I don't know if Murata was in on it or just a very good guesser, but Shin'ou was most of the way behind his target when he yelled, "Now!" and lead the priests in a sudden houjutsu barrage. Dietmar snarled and raised his power to counter it . . . and Shin'ou tackled him from behind. 

Although Yuuri's body was strong for someone of his age and build, it was still smaller and lighter than Dietmar's. That Shin'ou brought the renegade von Bielefeld down at all was probably as much luck as skill, and it only took a few moments of wrestling on the floor for Dietmar to pin him. 

Wolfram's father leaned down a bit to stare into his captive's face . . . and Shin'ou pushed his face up and kissed him. _Are you out of your mind?_ The words died in my throat as I saw Shin'ou's jaw work. An intensely startled look crossed Dietmar's face, and they both collapsed, one on top of the other. 

Dietmar's unconscious body spat out a white soul-sphere, which floated up toward the ceiling and disappeared before anyone could react. 

" _Magnus,_ " Geneus whispered, and my eyes widened. _He can't just have . . . without saying good-bye to us, even? Oh,_ fuck _. . ._ My eyes were stinging, and a part of me couldn't believe it. There was no way Shin'ou could be gone, just no way. 

I blinked back the tears I didn't have time to shed right now. If he was gone, then he was gone, and there were still things I had to do for the living. 

With Geneus' help, I rolled Dietmar off of Yuuri. Conrad took up a station to my left, with the tip of his sword at the von Bielefeld traitor's throat, while I uncorked the bottle I'd been guarding and tipped the contents into the mouth of my brother's empty body. When Yuuri swallowed reflexively, sighed, and began to breath lightly and evenly as though asleep, something eased inside me. 

Then Dietmar began to stir. I forced myself to say nothing, make no gesture, as his eyes flickered open, because I was angry as hell, and anyway, he wasn't mine to judge. The cult's, or Murata's, or maybe Wolfram's, but not mine. Even if my lover had given his immortal existence to defeat him. 

Dietmar tried to sit up, felt the prick of metal at his neck, and immediately fell back again. His brilliant blue eyes flickered over us—over Conrad, and Wolfram, now standing beside his brother, over me, lingering for several long moments on my body, and then at last to Geneus. 

"Saïré," he croaked in a voice that sounded like he'd swallowed gravel. I froze. "And here I thought you would be happy to see me," he added with a familiar smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My research gave me conflicting reports as to whether or not you can actually set normal stone on fire. Some sources suggested there's an ignition point for some types; others said it would melt first. Imagine the floor as having veins of polished jet in it if it makes you happier (jet is a plant-derived stone, similar to coal, so it should burn if you make it hot enough).
> 
> One more chapter, since I'm not quite done messing with everyone's heads yet. ;)


	27. Chapter 27

"I guess I missed a lot this time," Yuuri said, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

In front of us, souls were rising up into the sky as the Kyel-bware priests opened jars and bottles to let them free. Murata stood in the middle of the pyramid-temple's roof, keeping an eye on everything, beside the wizened old priest who had been among our attackers. The cult had been . . . remarkably accepting . . . of him as Kekele's new incarnation—Kekele's _final_ incarnation, as he had put it. 

"You're not even going to thank me for saving your life?" It was more of a gentle dig than a serious question—I mean, I hadn't done it in order to be thanked. 

I hadn't given Yuuri more than the bare bones of the story yet, either. I could cover . . . relationships . . . later. _One shock at a time._

"I guess I should, shouldn't I? Or Mom'll just make me do it later. Thank you, Shouri. And Geneus-san. And Shin'ou . . . What are you going to do, anyway, now that you're alive again?" 

"I was intending to retire to the countryside, if you don't mind. As plain Magnus Schwarzwald, not as a former Maoh. I don't think you really want me underfoot, anyway." Shin'ou paused, frowning, and touched his left ear. There was a flicker of majutsu, and when he lifted his hand away, the earlobe on that side had a subtly different shape. He'd been doing variations on that all day, smoothing out the differences between the late Dietmar's body and his original one. No wachsenar yet, judging from the way his pants fit, but I knew it was just a matter of time. "There's only one thing I want from you, and that's the deed to a particular tract of land near the eastern edge of the Maoh's Domain. I don't think it currently has a local lord." 

Yuuri blinked. "Well, sure, but . . . why there?" 

"If I am not mistaken, it is where he spent his childhood," Geneus said. 

"Oh. Um . . . will you be going with him?" Odd that Geneus seemed to make Yuuri more nervous than Shin'ou . . . or maybe not. Shin'ou could be mischievous, but Geneus had been an enemy. 

Geneus smiled. "If he will allow me." 

Shin'ou chuckled. "Did you think I was going to leave you behind? Never again, I promise you." 

Some ten feet away, Murata clapped his hands. "Can I have your attention, please? I have something to say, and it's very important." 

"Lord Kekele . . ." 

Murata shook his head, but didn't correct the priest who had spoken as the others quieted. "Thank you. Now, as several of you know, this is going to be the last Gifting of Souls—or at least, the last one conducted in this way." 

Most of the priests looked shocked or offended. One man took a step back and nearly fell over the edge of the pyramid's roof to land on the next stairstep-terrace, half a storey below. Fortunately, one of the others grabbed him and steadied him. 

"I've done you all a terrible disservice," Murata said, expression solemn to the point of grimness. "Kekele, the person that I once was, had been crushed beneath the weight of his home village's disdain, his family's hatred, and the unnatural memories of his past lives—memories that in him were deeply fractured. He was confused, perhaps even slightly mad, and he gave you a doctrine that didn't make sense. And I never came back to sort it out. I'm sorry." He bowed deeply, at a perfect ninety degree angle, like a properly contrite Japanese kid, and held it for several seconds before he straightened. "All Kekele could remember in any _useful_ way was that he wanted to save a particular soul from something unspeakable. Well, I found that soul, and with the help of some friends, I did save it, although it took me millennia. I don't have to search for him anymore. _We_ don't have to search for him anymore. Stop stealing souls." 

"Then what are we supposed to do with ourselves?" snapped a sour-looking middle-aged priest. 

Murata shrugged. "I don't know—but it seems to me that you've taken on a responsibility." He gestured out over the city. "There are thousands of people on this island, and you've taken it upon yourselves to lead them. Looking after them should be enough to keep you busy for a while, shouldn't it? Guard them. Guide them. Renew ties with the other islands and the mainland. My last wish for you is to see Mbahata prosperous and at peace." 

He bowed to them one last time and then rejoined us over by the main staircase down. _Get me out of here!_ He didn't actually say it, but everyone could tell from the expression on his face that he wanted to. 

Except maybe Yuuri. "Do you think they're going to listen?" he asked Murata as we all closed in around the adolescent Sage and began to hustle him downstairs. 

Murata smiled crookedly. "I don't know. There's an English saying: You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. I've given them my advice—it's up to them whether to take it or not." 

The room where the souls had been stored, just below the roof, was still a terrible mess, with a busted door, and char marks and puddles all over the floor. Big puddles. Big enough for a group of seven people to stand in, if they were all good friends. Which we mostly were. 

"Um, we're not going home like this, are we?" Yuuri asked as the five of us who would be performing the transport joined hands and formed a circle around Conrad and Wolfram, who would just be passengers. "Because I don't think our bathtub is big enough for everyone." 

Shin'ou shook his head. "I'd intended aiming for the Maoh's private bath at Blood Pledge Castle, which _is_ big enough to fit us all comfortably. Then the three of you can go back to Earth after you've had a night's rest." 

Yuuri hesitated, then nodded. "That works, I guess. Is everyone ready?" 

I got water up my nose while passing through the liquid limbo that led from A to B, and was too busy at first trying to get it back out again to figure out that the bath had been occupied when we showed up. 

" _Ara_ , so many wonderful men! It's almost as though Shin'ou decided to answer all my prayers at once!" 

"I'm afraid not, Mother," Conrad said gently. "Please just let everyone get out." 

"Considering what her prayers tend to be _for_ , I could scout all of Shin Makoku and still not find enough beautiful men," Shin'ou muttered as he gave me a hand up onto the edge of the pool. 

Wolfram winced and swore as he pulled himself out of the water. The dressing on his chest was—inevitably—wet, and he grimaced as he peeled it off. The burn underneath still looked red and raw, although we'd all put some effort into healing it last night, and Celi began to exclaim and flutter as she saw it. With Conrad trying to calm her down, Yuuri trying to explain, Wolfram sulking, and Murata watching the entire thing looking amused, no one was paying any attention to the three of us, and it seemed like a good time to sneak away. So we did, wet clothes and all. 

The guest room I used at the castle (although it was the same one every time, I'd never really gotten into the habit of calling it _my_ room) was up one flight of stairs and around a corner, and we managed to get there without anyone seeing us. Several towels later, I was wearing my Earth clothes, Geneus was wearing a bathrobe that might have been Conrad's once upon a time, and Shin'ou was lying on his back on the bed with a damp towel wrapped around his hips. 

"This would probably be a good time to get rid of the dye and tattoos," the blonde man observed. 

"You don't want to keep those?" I asked. 

"And have Dietmar's history—probably not his real history, but that makes it worse, not better—all over my body for the rest of this life? No thank you." 

Geneus nodded. "I can wait for mine to wear off, but if Shouri is to go home tomorrow, we had best attend to him first." 

I sighed. "Let me guess: this means I need to take my clothes off again." 

"If you're worried about getting cold, don't be," Shin'ou said. "I'll keep you warm." 

I rolled my eyes at his leer. "Dye first, okay?" 

Getting dye out of skin and hair turned out to be mostly a water-element operation, because the easiest way to deal with it amounted to yanking it back into solution, then wiping off the residue. Which involved a lot of towels that would probably never be the same again, and a lot of touching. At first that wasn't important—the backs of my hands weren't exactly an erogenous zone, or my shoulders, or my feet—but as Geneus and I worked inward toward my waist and groin, I became very . . . aware . . . of my dark lover's touch. And of the fact that Shin'ou's towel was about to slide off as he watched us, due to the size of the tent in it. 

"This should do," I said when there was still dye on my upper thighs, groin, and lower belly. "I don't usually go to public baths, and it isn't the right time of the year for swimming, back on Earth, so no one else should see those bits." I was still wearing my briefs from home, laundered for me by the castle's efficient staff. 

" _I'd_ like very much to see those bits." Shin'ou wasn't _quite_ drooling. 

"You will not after what I have planned for you tonight," Geneus said, and Shin'ou's cock visibly twitched. So did mine, but I had my back partly to him, which I hoped meant that he hadn't seen. "Now, will we have to tie you to the bed with the curtain ropes in order to work on those tattoos, or will you behave yourself?" 

A sigh. "I'll behave. For now. Slave driver." 

"If you did not have this unfortunate tendency to turn into a randy youth . . ." Geneus shook his head, lips curving into a fond smile. His robe slid open as he sat down on the edge of the bed, revealing a slice of smooth-skinned, leanly-muscled chest that probably made Shin'ou's mouth water as much as it did mine. 

"I hope you two don't mind wearing hand-me-downs to supper, by the way," I said as I sat down beside him. "The stuff I got from Conrad won't be as good a fit on either of you as it is on me, but it should be good enough for today. You can find something else tomorrow, after I've . . ." _. . . gone back to Earth._ The words tasted like ash, and I couldn't force them out. 

Geneus wrapped his arm around my shoulders, and Shin'ou reached over and gripped my hand in his—odd, to feel it without those bands of callus across the palm. Whatever Dietmar had been doing in his spare time for the past few decades hadn't involved much swordplay. 

"We will miss you every moment you are gone," the dark Sage said. 

"If you don't have enough power to make it back here on your own when evening comes around on that side, just step into the nearest puddle and speak my name, and I'll pull you through," Shin'ou said. 

"Did you expect us to give you up?" Geneus added when I couldn't seem to find any words. "I thought you understood that what we are trying to build with you . . . is not casual." 

"I, for one, don't even intend to let you off the hook when you're dead," Shin'ou added, and I felt a shiver run through me. 

"That discussion can be left for another time," Geneus said. "But if you want those marks off you before you present yourself in public, we need to get to work _now_." 

"The ones on my arms and my neck, at least," Shin'ou said, letting go of my hand and lying back again, with his arms and legs spread. "The rest can wait a few days if they have to." 

"But you would be happier if they did not," Geneus observed, "vain creature that you are." 

Shin'ou chuckled. "And if I had no flaws for you to disapprove of, my Sage, I believe you would find me far less interesting." 

"Possibly." 

I touched the back of Shin'ou's hand, tracing one of the tattoos. "How are we supposed to fix these, anyway?" 

"By forcing the pigment up through the epidermis," Geneus said. "It is more a healing operation than one of pure water use. Like this." 

I'm pretty sure the procedure hurt, given the way Shin'ou's muscles tensed up as we worked, but he never spoke a single word of complaint, and by the time the servants notified us of supper, we had not just his arms and neck, but most of his chest and shoulders, clear. 

Conrad's old clothes were loose enough on Geneus that his borrowings had to include my only belt, and tight enough through Shin'ou's shoulders that he had to leave the top of his jacket unfastened, but at least we were decently clothed. We still collected stares, though, and as we passed one of the maids, she dropped a teapot, which broke. Thankfully it had been empty. 

"Sh-Shin'ou-heika . . ." 

Shin'ou smiled at her. "It really is an extraordinary resemblance, isn't it? Especially with Geneus here beside me. But I'm not the First King's ghost, just a minor noble from the east. Magnus Schwarzwald." He bowed slightly, and the maid blushed. 

"I'm sorry, my lord. My name is Lasagna. I . . . really shouldn't keep you any longer . . ." She bent down and started picking up pieces of teapot, and we stepped around her and continued down the hallway. 

We were almost out of earshot when I heard the squeal, but I forced myself not to turn back. Geneus raised an eyebrow, though, and I sighed. 

"Either you two just got entered into the who-will-Yuuri-marry betting pool that the maids run, or they're going to start up a _new_ pool centering around me," I explained. "I wouldn't mind if there weren't so much _squealing_ involved." 

"Does your brother know?" Shin'ou asked, with a smirk. 

"I don't think so. He can be . . . pretty oblivious about some things. Let's just hope she and the others aren't dropping things all through dinner." 

But the perilous part of dinner came early on and in a completely different form. I'd just taken a mouthful of soup when Yuuri said casually, "I had the staff make up a couple of rooms for you in the guest wing, Geneus-san . . . Magnus." 

It took a manful effort for me not to spit soup across the table. Wolfram rolled his eyes, Conrad was staring into his bowl with the corners of his mouth twitching, and Murata was pretending to hide a cough. Everyone else except Greta seemed to be wondering what was going on, although only Celi looked like she'd be likely to ask outright . . . and Shin'ou had already caught her eye and was shaking his head. 

"Your generosity is appreciated, my lord Maoh," Geneus said calmly, "but we have already made other arrangements. I do not believe they will disturb the staff." He caressed my thigh briefly under the table. 

Yuuri blinked. "Oh. Well, that's okay, then." 

Supper seemed interminable after that. I kept on having to control the impulse to say something stupid. I mean, it wasn't that I didn't want Yuuri to know, but I wanted to tell him and Mom and Dad all at once if I could, because just the thought of explaining it all three times made me feel a bit faint. 

At last the dessert course was over and the meal broke up. Geneus dropped back a little as we left the dining room and spoke briefly to Josak where he lurked in the shadow of a pillar . . . come to think of it, he'd done the same on the way in. Shin Makoku's premier spy grinned as my dark lover handed him something small. Then Geneus rejoined us. I gave him an inquiring look, and he shrugged. 

"I asked him earlier to obtain a few things for us." 

I blinked. _"A few . . ." Wait a minute—sex toys? Josak?! Do he and Conrad . . . Actually, I don't think I want to know._

"Are you sure that was a good idea?" was all I asked, in the end. 

"He struck me as the sort of man who would know where to find appropriate shops—and who would know how to keep his mouth shut." 

Which was true enough, I reflected. In fact, knowing when to keep his mouth shut could be said to be part of Josak's job. 

And so I wasn't all that surprised to see a large paper bag with a discreet logo printed on it sitting in the middle of the floor when we got back to the room. Nor did most of the stuff Geneus took out of it: silk ropes, a couple of sealed clay pots, cock rings, small clamps, a couple of dildos. The flattish thing that was the last out I wasn't able to figure out until he unwrapped the tissue paper, though, and when I did get a good look at it, I swallowed. A paddle. Padded on one side, but it looked like it would sting, and it made a loud _crack!_ when Geneus slapped it experimentally against his palm. 

"Magnus," the dark Sage said. "Take off your clothes." 

Shin'ou raised his eyebrows. "I didn't think I'd done anything to tick you off that badly. Or at least, not today." 

"Clothes," Geneus said implacably, still holding the paddle. " _Now._ " 

"All right, all right." 

As Shin'ou began to strip, Geneus came over to me and pressed something into my hand. I blinked as I identified it as a cock ring. 

"Once he is down to his skin, put it on him," our dark lover said. "I do not want him finding his pleasure until I am ready to permit it." This close to him, I could feel his anger, held in check all day—slow-moving and implacable, like the earth that was his element. "Or if you are not comfortable with the idea, I can do it . . . but I think it would be better if you did." 

"I can manage," I said. It was, I reflected as I closed my hand around the ring, a natural progression of sorts: first, I'd been an observer, caught up in Geneus' memory, then I'd been a participant, but not actually responsible for any of the . . . more unusual . . . parts of what we were doing, and now I was going to be involved with those, too. 

Shin'ou, sitting naked on the edge of the bed, smiled at me and spread his thighs invitingly to reveal his erection. "You slide it on and then squeeze it," he prompted. "Not too hard, though. The idea is to keep me from coming, not cut off my circulation." He chuckled. "And I do love that blush." 

"I'll get you a photo," I muttered, although the idea of taking a selfie when I was turned-on and embarrassed just made me redder. _Shit._ I got my hand in between his thighs, threaded the ring over the head of his cock, and slid it down to the base, squeezing until he nodded . . . and then making it a little tighter, because I wouldn't have put it past him to fib. 

"You see right through me," Shin'ou said, smile turning wry. 

"Lie down," Geneus ordered, appearing naked by my side, skin still dark with dye, false tattoos curving over arms and legs and torso. He laid out several items on the bedside table: a jar, ropes, that paddle. "On your stomach," he added. 

Shin'ou obeyed, shimmying his ass in the air for a moment as he got comfortable in what I was sure was a deliberate motion. I started fumbling with my clothes, knowing that I was going to burst my fly if I didn't get my pants off soon. 

All the beds I'd ever seen at Blood Pledge Castle were four-posters, and Geneus bound our golden lover efficiently to the uprights of this one while I got undressed. By the time I returned to the bed, Shin'ou was helpless, pinioned with arms and legs extended in an X. It was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen, and I had to turn away, look up at the ceiling and count to ten, as my balls started to tighten. 

When I looked back, Geneus was sitting on the edge of the bed, running a hand lightly over Shin'ou's ass and lower back. His other hand held the paddle. 

"Magnus," he said in a soft, even tone, "what did you think you were doing when you tackled Dietmar?" 

"Getting rid of him in the only way I could think of that wouldn't involve setting fire to everything in the room," came the prompt reply. 

"It never occurred to you that there might be a better way?" Geneus was using the edge of the paddle instead of his hand now, tracing patterns as Shin'ou shifted against the mattress. 

"It seemed to me that we'd been trying other ways, Saïré." 

The paddle rose and came down, and I flinched at the sharp _crack!_ as it struck Shin'ou's ass, leaving a red mark. 

"Only once in all my lives have I ever been so frightened before." The dark Sage's voice held a subtle tremor. "I thought I had truly lost you this time." _Crack!_ "Not a sign, not a signal." _Crack!_ "Not even a hint of reassurance. I thought your soul had flown, so soon after I had found you again . . ." _Crack!_

" _Spirits,_ Saïré, I'm sorry. It never occurred to me that you might not be able to figure out what I was doing." 

"It wasn't exactly obvious, you know," I growled, and held out my hand for the paddle. "I thought Dietmar had pushed you _out_ , you stupid son of a bitch!" The paddle's trajectory wobbled a bit on the way down, but it still made a very satisfying _crack!_ when it struck. "I thought I was going to have to pick up the pieces—I was more worried about you than I was about Yuuri, and I went into that whole stupid thing for Yuuri! _You aren't expendable!_ Get that through your head!" _Crack-crack-thump!_ Geneus caught my wrist before I could swing again, and I realized I was crying, my vision so blurry that my last blow had hit the mattress beside my intended target. 

I laid my hand on Shin'ou's ass as our dark lover gently took the paddle from me. A tear splashed against my fingers. The next one landed a little further to the side, and I felt the skin I was touching flinch. 

"I am so very sorry," Shin'ou said again. "I'm not going to leave you—either of you. Especially not for such a stupid reason. I love you both too much. And if I didn't make that clear enough, then I deserve to be punished in a way I _don't_ enjoy." 

For a moment, no one spoke, and Geneus was the only one who moved, wiping the tears from my cheeks. 

"So now that you've made my backside the colour of Shouri's face," Shin'ou said, "are you going to help me break this body the rest of the way in? It's going to be interesting being a virgin again, even if it's only for a few minutes." 

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "How do you know you are? Dietmar may have held private orgies every night, for all we know." 

"Even if he did, he would have been strictly a top," Shin'ou said. "His personality wouldn't have allowed him to do anything that might have seemed like submission." 

"Well, I suppose you would know, if anyone," I said. Geneus had already opened the ceramic pot and placed it between Shin'ou's spread thighs. When I tested the contents, they were more gel than oil, almost scentless . . . easy to work with. "Then again, I don't think most people would expect to see you in this position, either," I added, first tracing the lower part of his spine with my finger, then sliding it down into the crack in his ass. 

"Those who actually knew me would," Shin'ou said. He tried to buck his hips up and impale himself, but Geneus held him down. A shiver ran through him as I stroked the gel around the edge of his hole and then went back to the jar for more. 

It felt like a dream, but I knew it was real, and I wanted him to be well-prepared for us. I knew I'd be mad at myself if I hurt him. 

Maybe I took it a little too slow, even so, because after I'd been finger-fucking him for a while, Geneus lubed up his hand and slid one of his fingers in alongside mine. Shin'ou groaned as we both moved in and out of him, stretching gently. 

"Just fuck me before I go insane," the golden god-king said, panting. "If I can't walk in the morning, I'll just have someone carry me." 

"The lord of a minor eastern estate is not likely to be given any such consideration here at Blood Pledge Castle," Geneus pointed out. 

"Fine, then, I'll crawl. Just . . . _please_ . . . I want to feel you. Feel you both, one after the other, since I don't think I can take you both at the same time. Not yet." 

Geneus glanced at me, eyebrow raised. I nodded. We rearranged ourselves so that I was kneeling between Shin'ou's legs. He gave a trembling cry as I spread his ass and slowly pushed my way in. 

" _Tight_ ," I groaned, because it really was. Tighter than either of them had been in dreams, tight and hot and _pulsing_ and I couldn't go slow, couldn't stay still. My body was working on its own, hips pistoning quickly as Shin'ou howled and rose to meet every thrust . . . our maryoku was twining together the way it had in my last dream, something inside me opening up, making me feel stretched as well as squeezed, my balls rubbing the tender, inflamed skin of my ass with every thrust . . . the frustrating, burning _ache_ of my strangled cock longing for release . . . 

I cried out in unison with Shin'ou as I came, but it wasn't really satisfying, not when part of me could still feel constricted, still-erect flesh pressing against the sheets. I was shaking as I pulled myself out and flopped down on the bed beside him. 

And when Geneus took my place . . . _Spirits._ I could feel them both equally now, penetrator and penetratee, as though I were stuffed in between them, and my hands found their way between my legs, one to my rapidly reawakening erection, the other to my ass. The gel still coating me made things easier and slicker and the sensations I was drawing up with my fingers merged with those coming from my lovers, and it was beyond words. I was— _we_ were flying. Together. And then falling, as Geneus twitched his power and loosened Shin'ou's cock-ring and we all came together. 

I was too far gone to remember cleaning up afterwards, but someone did—probably Geneus, with his stubborn, practical streak—and he must have untied Shin'ou too, because when I woke up in the morning, tangled in both their arms, we were none of us coated with icky gunk . . . although there was a slight residue in a couple of places. Just enough to tell me that it hadn't been a dream. I just hoped it had all been done before the servants who had laid out two suits of clothing scrounged from somewhere had entered the room. And that the toys had all been put away. Not that anyone in this section of the castle was likely to have any illusions about what we'd been doing in here last night, since we hadn't exactly been quiet. Just the thought made me turn red. 

"Good morning," Shin'ou said, and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "Looks like the castle was busy while we were sleeping the sleep of the debauched. Let's see what they've brought us, shall we?" 

"It was one of the maids," Geneus muttered, eyes still closed. "Sangria, I believe she is called. She built up the fire as well—for which I am grateful, and no doubt Shouri is too." 

True, it was kind of nippy in Shin Makoku after our little holiday in the tropics. 

"Are you going to go back to sleep?" Shin'ou asked, sounding genuinely curious. 

One liquid black eye opened. "I was considering it. There is, after all, nothing we need do today save find you some boots and a sword . . . and see Shouri off. None of those are tasks I am in any hurry to accomplish, but I suppose it is too much to expect that you would just let me be." But there was no sting in the words, not when they came with that smile. 

Shin'ou winked at me. "He's the only person I've ever encountered who always sleep-talks in complete sentences. Although he does scramble languages together, sometimes." 

Geneus' reply seemed to be all in one language, but it wasn't Mazoku or Djalt or anything else I knew, and whatever he said made Shin'ou laugh. 

It didn't take long to sort out whose clothes were whose: Geneus had plain grey trousers and a long tunic in deep blue trimmed with narrow bands of silver embroidery, all of it a reasonable fit. Shin'ou, on the other hand . . . The deep red military-styled jacket with gold trim would have been a bit much on Earth, but was acceptable in Shin Makoku. Likewise the white silk shirt and gold-edged cravat. But white satin trousers did not go with Dietmar's brown sandals, and the waist-length cloth-of-gold capelet was just . . . silly. And it was all a hair too big for him. 

"I don't think I want to know where that came from," I said, staring, unable to believe the full gaudy effect. 

"Lord von Voltaire's closet, judging from the insignia on the underside of the cape," Geneus murmured. "And no, I cannot imagine him wearing it either." 

In some other room of the palace, Gwendal must have sneezed. 

"Well," Shin'ou said, straightening the jacket, "I rather like it. Although it would be better in blue." 

"Let's go eat," I said, repressing a groan. 

Yuuri, Greta, Murata, Gunter, and Lady Celi's three sons were already in the dining room when we arrived, making us the last to arrive, since I'd already observed that Anissina didn't do breakfast. I was headed for the table, intending to sit down, when Shin'ou gripped my shoulder and stopped me. 

"May I have your attention, please? This shouldn't take very long." 

Wolfram muttered something about it being too early in the morning for this, whatever this was. Shin'ou ignored him, instead turning and . . . slapping Geneus across the face. And then he nodded to me. 

I couldn't have dodged Geneus' slap even if I'd wanted to—he was too quick. And so I ended up standing there with my cheekbone stinging and wondering why in hell Shin'ou was attacking us in a public place, and how he'd convinced Geneus to go along with it with just a look and a nod. 

Then Shin'ou said, "You're supposed to slap me, to complete the triad and signal your acceptance of the proposal, although strictly speaking it's still binding without that," and my mind belatedly dredged up Yuuri's embarrassed explanation of how he'd ended up engaged to Wolfram. 

"Um," I said intelligently. 

"You wouldn't want your children to be born out of wedlock, would you?" Shin'ou prodded, patting his stomach. 

I felt my mouth drop open. "You're _pregnant_?!" 

Another pat and a smug smile. "Twins, if I did it right. A boy and a girl. Yours and Saïré's." 

My brains seemed to have gone sight-seeing in Okinawa. All I could do was think _twins!_ , and listen to the conversation going on in the background, without being able to concentrate enough to link voices to speakers: 

"So Shouri's . . . engaged? To both of them?" 

"Even in our culture, it's a bit unusual, but not unheard of." 

"And Shin'ou is having _Shouri's kids_?" 

"Cousins for me to play with!" 

"That's what he says, Shibuya. Even if he messed up and he isn't pregnant right now, I'd bet he's going to be—Shibuya!" 

"Yuuri!" 

_Clunk._

My brain got its act together enough for me to figure out that Yuuri had fainted, landing face-down on his plate, which had thankfully still been empty at the time. 

Shin'ou was still watching me expectantly, so I slapped him so hard that his head snapped to the side, then went to check on my brother. 

My fiancés were right behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue left.


	28. Epilogue

"Governor Shibuya, a word, please!" 

"Governor Shibuya!" 

"Governor Shibuya!" 

I held up my hand, and used a subtle majutsu trick that Geneus had taught me to project my will. The mob of reporters quieted, although I still received the occasional barrage of flashbulbs from still cameras. 

"To answer the question I'm sure everyone wants to ask," I said, "I had always intended to retire at the end of this term rather than seek reelection for a third. I'm just moving things forward by a few months, that's all." 

"But there must be some reason," said a young man at the front of the crowd. 

"Does it have anything to do with today's vote at the Diet?" added the middle-aged woman beside him, who had evidently done her homework better. "You've been a constant supporter of both same-sex and multiple marriage, even when the people of Tokyo disagreed with those stances." 

I smiled. "It does. Now that my marriage is legal, I'm taking the accumulated paternity leave for my existing children all at once—unusual, but, again, legal." I held up my left hand and showed them the ring that I normally wore on a chain around my neck when I was on this side, now snug around my finger. 

_And didn't_ that _cause an uproar,_ I reflected some thirty minutes later, looking out the window of the official car at the skyline of Tokyo for what was likely to be the last time for quite a while. The photo of Shin'ou holding the twins had gone over well, though, as had the one of the three of us together. 

By the time I got back from Shin Makoku, everything would have blown over. Hell, I wasn't planning more than brief visits to Earth for the next six months, which would end up being a couple of _years_ from my subjective standpoint. Not only would the fickle public have forgotten about the news conference, but I likely would have too. 

"Good luck from here on, Governor Shibuya," my chauffeur said as he opened the door for me outside my apartment building. 

"Thanks, Tanaka-kun." 

I'd taken a two-bedroom apartment on the ninth floor, but really, it looked like a suite in a hotel . . . except even more barren and impersonal, since a decent hotel will normally have some third-rate art prints on the walls, and my apartment was completely undecorated, combining white walls with carpets and furniture in shades of beige, grey, and cream. The only splash of colour was a handful of dating sims, their boxes gathering dust on the shelf beside an aging computer. I never had time for that stuff anymore, and I never spent more time in the apartment than I needed to change clothes. The bed in the master bedroom had never been used, and the kitchen was saved from a similar condition only by Jose having borrowed it to make coffee one day. 

Now I took off my suit and tie and hung them back up in the closet. Shirt and underwear went into the hamper for the cleaning service to deal with. I padded naked into the bathroom, ran an inch of water into the tub, and stepped in. Closing my eyes, I pictured a well-known and beloved place, and let my majutsu carry me. 

I surfaced in an expanse of steaming water the size of a small swimming pool—not alone, because they had known I was coming. 

"About time." Shin'ou, AKA Lord Magnus Schwarzwald, was sitting on the shelf that ran around the edge of the pool. He was submerged up to the neck, but the water was clear enough for me to be able to see the developing bulge of his belly. It had taken me a while to get used to the idea that my blonde husband _liked_ being pregnant . . . well, at least during the middle trimester. He tended to use his power to fast-forward through the nauseous period at the beginning and the bloated one at the end. 

"The press conference dragged on a little longer than I expected," I said. "But for the next few months, I'm all yours." 

"At last." Geneus was standing on the edge of the pool, a towel wrapped around his hips . . . although the least ripple in the cloth would have revealed the tip of an impressive erection. Wachsenar wasn't an unmixed blessing—I'd been more conservative with my enlargement than either of them, and I still had to be very careful about the cut of the pants that went with my Earthside business wear. 

I waded over to join them as my dark husband doffed his concession to the servants' modesty and slid into the water. Shin'ou rose to his feet, and I was enveloped in a warm, wet, three-way hug . . . which might have become something more if we hadn't been interrupted. 

"Papa Shouri!" Little feet pattered quickly across the tiled floor of the bathhouse, ending in a big, splashy belly flop and a small body in the grip of a hastily-constructed water dragon. 

" _Cristel!_ Oh, _Spirits_ , I'm sorry." Lawrence, our oldest son, knew better than to run across wet and slippery tiles. Unfortunately, that meant that when his little brother was really determined to get away from him in here, there wasn't much he could do to stop him. "I was reading, and—" 

"It isn't your fault," I said, guiding the dragon to deposit our youngest son, fifth of our six children to date, in my arms. "It's his nurse that's supposed to be preventing things like this, not you." 

Lawrence grimaced. "But still, I'm the big brother, and I should protect him. He might have hurt himself." 

"And we would still not have blamed you if he had," Geneus said firmly. 

I ruffled Cristel's hair, then handed him up to his older brother. "Get him into dry clothes before he catches cold," I said, "and then back to the nurse." 

"Of course." 

I sighed gustily as the two of them exited, hand in hand, headed for the change room. "Someone remind me again why we didn't just stop after the twins?" 

"Don't be silly," Shin'ou said. "You love them all. And we're only just getting started." 

"You should have taken him more seriously when he said he wanted thirty of them," Geneus said. "There are some things he does not joke about." 

And really, Shin'ou was right: I did love all six of our children to date. Strong and smart and beautiful, every one of them—from Lawrence, who was rather like Geneus in miniature, all the way down to little Celi, who was only just starting to walk. 

Geneus kissed me lightly behind the ear. "Welcome home, Shouri." 

_Home. Yes._

I drew up a slender water dragon and sent it to bar the door. Anyone else who wanted to use the bath could just wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, Yuuri is probably praying that Wolfram won't want to start his own Soukoku tribe to compete with Shouri et al. ;)
> 
> Anyway, that's it for this one. The other longfic I've mentioned a couple of times is, er, longer, so it probably won't show up until the new year. Tentative title: _Two Lesser Stars_. Premise: What if Yuuri hadn't lived long enough to cross over to the other world and become Maoh? Rather than allow the world to end, Shin'ou decides to go with second-best and parachutes Shouri into the situation as it might have existed at the beginning of season 2 if Yuuri hadn't been around to mess with things. Adventures ensue, and nothing quite goes as anyone planned. (Including me—right now I'm trying to get Shouri, Geneus, Conrart, Gunter, Josak, and some other minor characters out of Small Cimaron. Oy vey.)


End file.
